Of Blacks and Malfoys
by Lord Methene
Summary: For centuries those two families have ruled the wizarding world, politically and economically. Now, as troubled times arise, will the wizarding world look to them for leadership, or will the new currents and ideas change wizarding society?
1. Status Quo

**A/N:** Harry Potter, or any other elements associated with the Harry Potter universe do not belong to me, they belong to JK Rowling and to a lesser extent, Warner Bros, EA etc.**  
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**Summary:** for centuries those two families have ruled the wizarding world, politically and economically. Now, as troubled times arise, will the wizarding world look to them for leadership, or will the new currents and ideas change wizarding society?

**Book One: Old Ways**

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Chapter I Status Quo

Albus Dumbledore made his way up the stairs of the House of Lords, his mind considering the implication of today's session. Deep within the folds of his robe laid the resolution he hoped would change their society for the better. For the thousandth time since he received it from a nervous looking messenger of the House of Commons he considered the chamber. Several people waved their hellos, some going as far as trying a 'Good morning Albus!', but none received the customary warm reply and inquiry to their health.

The Novus Veneficus were sure to support him, since their representatives had put forth the resolution in the first place, but sadly their presence would not provide the Chairman with much support, due to their small numbers. No, it was the Aliquanta Albus placed his faith in. Many of their numbers were calm, collected individuals, with none of the disdain of Muggle-borns that the Nobilitas sported. Although for the bill to pass, it would require that some Nobilitas abstain, or vote in favour. His mind mused on the intricacies of convincing even one of the conservative Lords to support him, not to speak of the dozens that would be required. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by his arrival at the majestic doors of the chamber. An Auror snapped to attention and opened the door for the Chairman.

Chairman Albus Dumbledore struck his gavel, calling the House of Lords to order. Not a Lord by birth, he had ascended to the position due to the reforms that swept the wizarding world after his defeat of the Dark Lord Grindelwald. To say that he was the most popular Chairman of the House would be a mild exaggeration. Still the 200 crème de la crème of the wizarding society settled down, the noise in the chamber diminishing.

'Lords of the realm, I have in front of me the resolution proposed by the Novus Veneficus, validated by the House of Commons in yesterday's session,' said Dumbledore, his voice magically carrying across the room, to reach even the obscure back ranks of the newer lordships, created in the 1700s. 'I draw to your attention that the resolution has passed with a 70 majority in the House of Commons and I recommend you to consider validating it. With no further addition, I shall read the resolution,

'_The Wizarding World can no longer stand anchored in the past, while evolution speeds past it. Our political system is antiquated and unfair. Muggle-borns have the right to study in our schools, the right to work in our businesses, but their political representation is restricted to the House of Commons. Due to this unfair treatment we propose the following:_

_I. The House of Lords is to be extended by an additional 50 seats, seats which carry the full powers of a Lord of the House._

_II. The 50 seats mentioned above are to be elected and not traditionally transmissible down from father to son_

_III. The 50 seats would carry the title of Observers and serve to balance off the Lords' traditional powers…'_

At this point Dumbledore's voice could no longer be heard above the murmur of the house, so he banged his gavel several times, calling for order. With a disappointed grandfatherly look towards the Nobilitas that caused the racket he continued…

'IV. _The 50 seats shall be reserved exclusively for the Muggle-borns of our society, in order to ensure equal and fair representation_

_V. The term served by each Observer shall be of 20 years, with a possibility of extension to another 20 years at the end of the term_

_VI. The 50 Observers are to be elected by the House of Commons_

'That is the resolution brought forward by the House of Commons. Anyone wishing to speak in favour of the act?' asked Dumbledore 'The chair recognizes Lord Richard Potter.' An elder man, who still showed signs of his once black hair stood up from his seat on the far left of the chamber and went to the speaker dais.

'Fellow Lords, Honoured Chair, I beg you to see past the bigotry our society has descended into and allow your better sides to prevail. Muggle-borns' voices go unheard in this chambers,' started Lord Potter, only to be interrupted by a Lord from the right.

'…Not quite unheard Lord Potter; they have you to champion their cause'

'That is enough, Lord Lestrange, your time will come to put forward your points. Now it is Lord Potter's time to speak,' said Dumbledore, glaring at the core group of Lestranges, Malfoy and Black.

'…I merely strive for equality Lord Lestrange. It is as if we bar our doors against them, and refuse to admit their existence. That is unacceptable in a modern society. This legislation must be made to pass,' finished Lord Potter, with a prolonged gaze at the Aliquanta.

'Thank you Lord Potter. Are you open for questions?' asked Dumbledore-at an affirmative response turning towards the chamber- 'any wish to question Lord Potter?' Several hands went up, including Lord Lestrange's. Wishing to get more sordid opposition out of the way first-'The chair recognizes Lord Lestrange'

'Lord Potter, talk of equality and fairness is high minded, but is contradicted by restricting the 50 seats to Muggle-borns? That is discriminating against other parts of our society. Merlin knows, there are purebloods without lordships, half-bloods aplenty. Can you call your position fair if you exclude them the right to election?' said Lord Lestranges under applause from both the middle and the right.

'I feel as they do not need representation-my fellow pureblooded lords speak for the people in their realms. Muggle-borns have no one to speak for them,' replied Lord Potter. Murmurs began to hear themselves once again, Dumbledore having to resort to using his gavel.

'Thank you Lord Potter, you may stand down. Anyone wishing to speak against this resolution?' asked Dumbledore. Pre arranged speaking orders within the Nobilitas led to only one hand going up. 'The chair recognizes Lord Malfoy.'

The blonde man in his middle age strode towards the platform in complete silence. Once there he looked around, cast a sigh and proceeded to speak.

'Fellow Lords, what Lord Lestrange has said is perfectly valid. Reserving the 50 seats for Mud- Muggle-borns, is only turning discrimination half circle. If we do that, we no longer discriminate against their kind, but discriminate against purebloods and half-bloods. I ask this of you, what is next? Should we exempt them from taxation? Perhaps reduce the grades they need to obtain in order to get into our schools? Give them welfare because they do not properly integrate into a world so foreign from their own? What Lord Potter is proposing is discrimination against proper wizards. I will not stand for it, and I urge you all to do the same.' With that being said Lord Malfoy turned his gaze towards the Aliquanta sitting in the middle, seeing many approving glances and respectful nods. The Novus Veneficus on the left, were however seething with outrage at the statement.

'Will Lord Malfoy entertain any questions?' asked Dumbledore, staring at his group of supporters.

'No I shall not' said Abraxas, causing the left to double their efforts of burning him alive with their eyes. In fact, Abraxas kept a hand on his wand, hidden in the folds of his Parliamentary robes, since duels on the House floor had occurred in the past on sensitive issues.

'Very well, Lord Malfoy, you may step down.'

'I move to vote on the resolution,' Lord Black stated, his cold eyes moving slowly across the chamber in search of support.

'Lord Black, perhaps we should hear some more points before we make up our mind.' suggested Dumbledore.

'I second that,' said Lord Malfoy, now returned to his chair.

'Very well, all in favour of allowing the creation of 50 seats?' asked Dumbledore. A measly number of Lords stood up, the 10 of the Novus Veneficus, supported by only 5 of the more radical Aliquanta.

'All against?' asked a grief stricken Dumbledore. At that the entire body of 130 Nobilitas, supported by 40 Aliquanta stood up.

'Any abstentions?' The 25 Aliquanta members that usually abstained or were bought for votes stood up to declare their neutrality. Dumbledore, although the words brought sour feelings to him, was forced to announce the outcome.

'The resolution to create 50 additional seats has failed by a margin of 170 to 15, with 40 abstentions,' said Dumbledore, 'now onto the topic of this year's budget for the Auror corps…'

Holding in his rage, Lord Abraxas Malfoy quickly descended the steps of the Wizarding Parliament, his black and silver robes fluttering around him, his cane beating an elegant rhythm on the white marble steps. An equally furious wizard, one who went by Lord Cygnus Black in session, struggled to keep up with the taller man's strides, his anger far more obvious in his behaviour then the aloof air the Malfoy patriarch displayed.

'Abraxas! Wait up in Merlin's name!' said Cygnus, who had retorted to screaming after his friend.

'Forgive me, Cygnus, I was merely venting off some of the anger I was subject to in that hall.' said Abraxas 'If our ancestors, that built this hall, would have been present at today's session, they would destroy it rather than let it be subject to such barbarism.'

'Quite, the Muggles have meddled in everything' said Cygnus 'But, as the session is over, and we will not be subject to listen to the mutterings of the Half-Blood for another month, I believe a slight celebration is in order. What do you say you come over to Ravensden and share a bottle of Odgen's?'

'That would prove calming to my nerves at this moment, thank you. After you.' said Abraxas.

Cygnus disapparated shortly, with Abraxas following him shortly after a last glance at the large edifice. _What has become of our society? Half-Bloods trying to push legislation to facilitate the admittance of Mudbloods into political position, less and less respect granted to blood purity._ With one last glance at the inscription on the façade above the entrance _Our Blood is Our Heritage_ the Malfoy patriarch shook his head sadly and followed his friend to the Black Manor.

Cygnus appeared shortly at the front gate of the imposing Manor that had housed the Black family for generations. Although styles came and went, the Manor's new wings fit in perfectly with one another, creating a harmonious symmetry. The large double door was opened by a house elf and Cygnus saw his wife Druella waiting for him.

Druella was a wise woman, and throughout their 20 years of marriage had picked up on the moods of her husband. She kissed him shortly on the lips and did not inquire of the meeting that had surely not gone well from the look on Cygnus's face.

'Good afternoon dear. Abraxas and I shall retire to the library for a glass,' said Cygnus.

'Certainly dear,' said Druella. She knew her husband would find the time to tell her whatever happened, after he and his best friend vented their frustrations in private. Interrupting her musings, a crack signalled the appearance of said friend.

'Druella, I am sorry to kidnap your husband after he was gone the entire morning,' said Abraxas, leaning down to kiss Druella's outstretched hand.

'Nonsense, the two of you look like you need to wind down after this morning's events. He is far better of in your company then mine for the time being,' said Druella.

'Although, you will have to make it up by coming for dinner sometime this week.'

'It would be my pleasure. Shall we say on Wednesday?'

'Perfect, I shall see you and Lucius then,' said Druella before retiring and leaving the two men to their Firewhiskey and rants about the direction their world was going.

The same thing did not poison the life of the three other occupants of the manor. Up in one of the private salons upstairs, three very beautiful and yet completely different witches sat discussing school, shopping, boys and other interests for girls their age. The eldest of the three, in her last year at Hogwarts, Bellatrix Black, with her raven black hair and temperament that had given her parents more trouble than they ever bargained for, was currently discussing a gown with her youngest sister, Narcissa. For although Andromeda was closer to her age, being a Sixth Year, Bella had always felt closer to her youngest sister, currently in her Fifth Year at Hogwarts.

Narcissa, for whom many hearts cried for back at Hogwarts, due to her aristocratic figure and her platinum blonde hair, that framed her perfect face with elegant lips and blue eyes, was slowly growing to be the most envied witch in Hogwarts, not only in her year, but also by Sixth and Seventh years as well. However, few that mustered the courage to ask Narcissa out on a Hogsmeade date, or tried to flirt with her on the way to class were given any consideration at all. Unlike Bellatrix, who scared people off, and was found duelling Gryffindors far more often than some of her male colleagues, Narcissa was the epitome of the other side of the Black family, ignoring all whom she deigned below her.

And last, but definitely not least, Andromeda. The middle sister was just as beautiful as the others, with brown hair, but lacked in many other aspects qualities that Cygnus considered essential for a proper Black. She had no hatred for Mudbloods, and was found speaking to Hupplepuffs just as often as she fraternized with Gryffindors. Bellatrix swore that Andromeda would be the death of her father one day, but due to Narcissa's pleas had restrained from bringing the matter to her father's attention.

The girls' carefree universe was interrupted by the arrival of their mother. At 40, she could still turn heads, much like she did when she was in Hogwarts.

'Girls, I have certain news for you and I expect you to listen to me fully until you bombard me with your questions,' said Druella. Bellatrix made a move to speak, but a stern gaze from her mother made her close her open mouth.

'Now, that we have got that out of the way… Your father and Mr. Malfoy are downstairs discussing important business. I presume they will take quite a while, if I where to guess by the look on their faces. I suggest we go to Diagon Alley, catch a spot of lunch and maybe do some shopping,' said Druella. Of course Bellatrix moved to speak immediately. 'Yes Bella?' sighed her mother.

'Mother, could I get the dress I showed you last time? I want to wear it to the Lestranges' ball on Sunday,' asked the eldest.

'Mother, I don't want to go to the Lestranges' ball! I do not like them,' said Andromeda. Out of all of them, only Narcissa remained composed, looking ahead calmly and smiling discreetly.

'Of course you do not like them, they are proper wizards. You would rather spend your time with some lowly mudbloods,' snapped Bellatrix.

'Girls please do not start fighting now; there are enough angry people in this house as it is,' said Druella. 'Bella, of course you can have whichever dress you like, although I can not quite recall which one it was, so you will have to show me.' At this Bella's face twisted from her usual angry one to one of pure happiness.

'Andromeda you do not have any choice, you must go, and perhaps some time in proper circles will do you some good. What about you Narcissa darling? Is there anything you want for the ball?'

'I am sure something will catch my fancy mother,' answered Narcissa.

'Anything you desire, dearest,' said Druella 'Now I shall leave you girls to get ready. We will meet in the entrance hall in 1 hour.' Having finished her business, Druella glided out of the room thinking about her middle daughter. She caused her much anguish sometimes, and there were whispers that she hung around the wrong crowds at school. She trusted in Bellatrix to keep her in line, but that girl was sometimes too brutal with those she despised. Sure Bellatrix was Black to the grave, proud, Slytherin, magically powerful, but she had a tendency of acting without thinking from time to time. A very Gryffindor trait, Druella thought, one that brought her eldest daughter nothing but trouble. Now, Narcissa was the epitome of perfection. She had her faults, Druella did not doubt it, but she somehow managed to disguise them under an aloof smile and a clear face. She had heard rumours about her too, how she considered everybody beneath her, and did not have a single Hogsmeade date. Druella knew her daughter better than anyone. Behind the cool façade was a shy girl that was afraid to get hurt. Not physically hurt of course, as Bellatrix would personally maim and torture anyone who touched a single strand of her little sister's hair, but emotionally hurt. She was there when Bellatrix had broken up with her first boyfriend, and although he ended up regretting it, and not being able to sit down for a month, Bellatrix was very sad for quite some time. The marvels of teenage romance... 'These girls are going to make me go grey before my time…'

At the preset time Narcissa descended the stairs slowly, wearing simple silver robes that contrasted pleasantly with her blonde hair, and joined her elegantly dressed mother at the bottom stairs. Approximately five minutes later, a running Bellatrix appeared in black robes, hurrying to finish her make-up. Her mother frowned but let it pass for now. Bella never managed to be right on time as Narcissa. When Andromeda appeared, Druella's mild annoyance turned into a migraine.

'Pardon me Andromeda, but what is it you are wearing?' asked Druella.

'Just jeans and a t-shirt, it's too warm for robes,' answered Andromeda, doing her best not too look up at her mother.

'And I presume you missed your second year charms, when they taught you how to do cooling charms,' snapped Druella, her nose curling upwards at her daughter's attire.

'It's not that mother, it's just that…'

'… just what, exactly, Andromeda? Do you want half of wizarding Britain gossiping about how a Black was spotted wearing Muggle clothing on Diagon Alley?' said Druella.

'No, I wanted to meet some friends later' said Andromeda, in a whiny tone.

'And you have to wear rags to meet your friends?' asked Druella, her temper rising.

'She wants to meet some of her Mudblood friends mother,' said Bellatrix, adding her venom to the conversation.

'I told you to stop calling them that!' screamed Andromeda, Bella's comment driving her over the edge 'They're people too!'

'Ladies, this is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion. Andromeda I am sorry but you cannot come dressed like this. If you change your mind, after you change in proper robes you can meet us there,' said Druella 'Bella, Cissy, let's go!'

Druella Disapparated first, followed by Narcissa, and then lastly Bellatrix, after a hateful glance at her middle sister. Underage Apparition was one of the few remaining Pureblood privileges, with Pureblood children being allowed to Apparate after proving they were able and taking the exam. The law had been under assault by the House of Commons for some time, but the House of Lords was unyielding. Even blood traitors such as the Potters did not want their apparition privileges removed from their children.

Diagon Alley was its usual bustle as every day, with witches and wizards hurrying about their business. Well, perhaps it was slightly more crowded. Due to the proximity of the Hogwarts start date, hundreds of parents were out to purchase what their children needed. All the commotion served as a cold remainder to Bella and Narcissa that school was only two weeks away. Bella was glad since she could be with Rodolphus again, but Narcissa was less than pleased. She never did like Hogwarts as much as her two older sisters.

Although already packed with people, wizards and witches moved out of the way of the Black women, some bowing slightly, while others removed their hats. The three Blacks of course responded to no one.

After Bellatrix's insistent remarks, the first stop was Selene's Magical Wrappings, where Druella made good on her promise to buy Bella the robe she wanted to wear for the Lestranges' ball.

'Bella dear, are you sure this is the robe you want?' asked Druella, her eyes taking in the robes Bellatrix was wearing.

'Quite sure mother, black with silver lining, my two favourite colours,' said Bellatrix, looking at the mirror which nodded her acceptance.

'It does complement her form well mother,' said Narcissa.

'Very well, Selene we shall take it. I will have a house elf come and collect it later on in the day.'

'Certainly Lady Black,' said the shopkeeper, who then proceeded to help Bellatrix take the robe of.

Narcissa and Druella waited patiently for Bella to put her other robe back on, and then proceeded to head for lunch at_Café __d'Allée_.

Meanwhile, back at Ravensden…

A house elf had brought a bottle of Odgen's finest and then left the two wizards alone to their sorrows... The room they were in reflected the dark mood of its occupants. Black Mahogany flooring and the same essence wood panelling, together with silver satin curtains and imposing baroque furnishings created a surreal landscape, that screamed luxury and opulence, but darkness tinted and permeated from every corner.

'What would you make of today's session Cygnus?' asked Abraxas.

'A complete and utter cacophony! If the Novus Veneficus believes it can upturn legislation which has stood since the creation of our government, our world has gone to shambles,' said Cygnus regretfully.

'Truth be told, I do not have much fate in our government nowadays. You have read the news. Richard Potter is to stand in election for their thrice damned party! If the Novus Veneficus were to control the ministry our society is damned,' said Abraxas.

'What is the House of Commons but a place for the plebs to assemble and bicker amongst themselves of price changes and taxes. They are nothing Abraxas, nothing. They will nominate Richard Potter for Minister of Magic, approve him with an overwhelming majority, and pass the bill to the House of Lords, after which we will strike it down,' replied Cygnus.

'And then what? Will they ever nominate someone from our Party?' said Abraxas

'They will not, but we shall strike a deal. You know the Aliquanta benefit the most from this current standoff between the Nobilitas and Novus Veneficus,' said Cygnus.

'One of us must change this world for the better,' said Cygnus. 'The Republic no longer functions properly.'

'Civil war would be worse than the state we are in. Yes we are more powerful, since we do not take into consideration Ministry regulations concerning Magic. Our children are more powerful since they practice magic at an earlier age, and use it more often, strengthening their magical powers. But one pureblood life is worth a thousand mudbloods. And by that advantage they beat us. They can throw away their lives recklessly; the loss of one pureblood puts an entire family at risk.'

'I do not see the way,' said Cygnus.

'Nor do I old friend. I shall continue to preserve our powers financially and politically, but change is coming. I can only hope it favours us.'

'It will, we might suffer, several old lines might be extinguished, but we shall triumph in the end.'

'I shall go now, I have taken too much of your time already,' said Abraxas after a glance at the clock.

'Nonsense, do you not want to stay for dinner?' asked Cygnus.

'I am coming for dinner the day after tomorrow. I need to sample the cuisine at my own manor too,' said Abraxas, who then proceeded to shake Cygnus' hand and left for the front door. A quick nod to his friend 'Do transmit my regards to Druella will you?'

'Of course,' said Cygnus, while Abraxas turned and Disapparated. Only now did he notice that they had spent the entire afternoon and the better part of the evening discussing politics. He joined his wife in the dinning room for a short dinner and then proceeded to bed.

'Is all in order dear?' asked Druella, trying do discern what had soured her husband's mood.

'Blood traitors tried to pass legislation to extend the House of Lords by fifty seats, to allow prominent mudbloods to serve on it,' replied Cygnus.

'That is preposterous. I hope it was voted down,' exclaimed Druella.

'It was, by a fairly large margin too, almost all the Aliquanta sided with us,' said Cygnus. 'No more of this dear, I spent enough time with Abraxas dealing about it. How was your day?'

'The usual, dealing with the girls. However, that Andromeda…' The two enjoyed a quiet companionship, sharing their problems and giving advice when needed.

The same could not be said of the Malfoy patriarch. No one was waiting for him to welcome him home. Since Hesperia had died, the imposing Manor was empty. Lucius had cared for his mother deeply, and her death had led to a rift between father and son. Nowadays Lucius spend precious time at the Manor, preferring the London townhouse. With a sigh Abraxas headed upstairs, took off his robe laying it on a chair for the house elves to arrange, and headed for bed. Tomorrow he would have to send a letter to Lucius about the Blacks' invitation to dinner.

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	2. Of Ceremony and Crimes

**A/N:** As usual, Harry Potter universe belongs to whom it does...

Thank you for the two who reviewed, as a present here is the next chapter:

Chapter II Of Ceremony and Crimes

Ravensden had changed from its dark dreary atmosphere to a festive one on Wednesday. Although the Malfoys were close friends of the Blacks the occasion demanded flawless organization and deliverance, and as such the Black House Elves had been working tirelessly.

'Mistress Black is all to your liking?' asked a nervous house elf, while staring at the granite floor.

'Yes Famulus, although the curtains are dustier then I had expected… It would not do for the Malfoys to see Ravensden in that state.' the threat left hanging in the air

'Apologies Mistress, I is going to clean them up right away,' said the house elf, trembling at the thought of punishment.

'See that you do,' ended Druella curtly.

As Druella dismissed the servant with a flick of her hand, her husband was making his way downstairs.

'Still riding on the servants backs dear?' asked Cygnus.

'Someone must do it. Merlin knows they can't be trusted to take care of matters by themselves,' replied Druella in mock annoyance.

'And you do it too well…' said Cygnus.

'Now that is pure, unabridged flattery, though I thank you none the less,' replied Druella.

While the Lord and Lady of the Manor were arguing in good spirit downstairs, a less good natured fight was occurring upstairs in Narcissa's salon.

'I will not do it Cissy, I will not go to the Lestranges' ball. I hate them, and I don't think they like me very much either!' exclaimed Andromeda.

'Don't be a fool Andromeda,' said Narcissa while pinning her hair up.

Andromeda hovered in front of her younger sister's mirror. 'I am not a fool. Just because my friends do not have father's money or blood doesn't make them lesser wizards. And what gives the Lestranges the right to treat them as if they were house elves?'

Narcissa, mildly annoyed at the interruption, was quick to retort.

'Andromeda, I don't know why you come to me with these problems. Now, I may not be as aggressive as Bella against them, but why would you think that I consider them equal to us?' said Narcissa to her sister's outrage.

At that point the mirror decided to intervene in the conversation.

'Narcissa dear, you look lovely as always. And Andromeda darling, she really is right you know. Mudbloods are inferior-just look at the witches-no sense of style or proper attitude,' said the mirror.

'Shut up you stupid ornament. Is everything in this house against me?' asked Andromeda, her hands gripping the edge of the table and her knuckles turning white.

'Andromeda dear, have you stopped to consider that maybe you are the problem?' put Narcissa in while laying a comforting hand on her sister's arm. Andromeda scoffed at the hand and pulled away in horror.

'I can't believe you said that, Cissy,' she said, backing away in shock, and stomped out of the room, just in time to knock into Bella on her way out.

'Watch where you're going Andromeda!' snapped Bellatrix. For perhaps the first time ever, instead of snapping at her sister, Andromeda's facial features constricted into the famous Bella snarl that would send First Year Gryffindors running for their parents, and walked away without a word.

'What has gotten into our dear sister's deranged head now?' asked Bella plopping herself down into one of the Baroque armchairs.

'The usual, she does not want to go to the Lestranges ball,' said Narcissa, now resuming the task of grooming her hair.

'If that little trollop thinks she can ruin this occasion for me I will poke her eyes out!' said Bellatrix, her eyes turning towards the door, with half a mind to go teach her sister a lesson.

'Calm down, Bella, she is still our sister, not some horrid mudblood you can torment,' replied Narcissa. 'Andromeda is just going through a phase, I am sure she will come around. Now let's get you arranged for tonight, shall we?'

Abraxas sat in the living room of his mansion, sipping a glass of red wine from Transylvania, while the small orchestra in the corner was playing mournfully. The enchanted musical instruments had been a gift from his wife on their tenth anniversary. Just then his peace and quiet was interrupted by a house elf. Angry at being interrupt from his reverie he snapped at the elf.

'What is it elf? I hope you have a good reason for interrupting me,' said Abraxas drawing his wand from the folds in his robe. At this point the house elf, a new servant by the name of Dobby, trembled in fear, incapable of speech, which was aggravating his situation further.

'Dobby is sorry master, I just had to say, that er-...' The life of the small elf was saved completely unintentionally by a tall blonde man striding into the room.

'Still terrifying the elves father?'

'Lucius, how good of you to join me. That is all Dobby,' said Abraxas, while a relieved Dobby disappeared into thin air. 'How are you?'

'Fine, Rodolphus has proven to be entertaining enough this summer. Though that little brother of his, Rastaban, follows him around like a stray kneazle,' said Lucius, trying to break through the tense atmosphere.

'Will you have a glass?' asked Abraxas picking up the wine bottle.

'Sure, I'll have one,' said Lucius. 'Where did you get this bottle? I haven't seen them around Britain,' saying that he walked over, picked it up and stared intently at the black and silver label.

'A friend from Romania, he came over to Britain, although I don't think you'd remember him. You were too young,' replied Abraxas, gesturing for his son to sit down in the armchair in front of him.

The two men sat enjoying their wine; however the silence was getting to both of them. Seeing the chance to make some amends with his son, Abraxas spoke.

'Have you given any thought about taking a wife, Lucius?'

'The thought has not occurred to me, no? Why ask?' replied Lucius, narrowing his eyes at his father. The old man could be devious at times and the change of topic came as a surprise.

'Cygnus Black has three daughters. While he regrets not having a son as well to carry his name forward, the three of them are lovely. Perhaps you would consider one of them,' suggested Abraxas. He had no worries about his son eventually marrying and producing an heir, but the rumours he had heard about Lucius gallivanting around half the witches of his age in London were bound to have some truth to them.

'It is a bit early to speak of that isn't it?' asked Lucius, careful to not provoke another fight with his father.

'It is never too early to consider the future of the Malfoy line. Especially with the way things are going at the moment!' snapped Abraxas. 'Well, enough of that. Just promise me that you will consider one of his three daughters.'

'I shall look into the matter,' replied Lucius. 'The wine was splendid, but I fear we must be going.'

'You're right. Let me get my cane and cloak and we can go,' said Abraxas.

As was customary for the Malfoys, the time the ancient clock in the entrance hall struck the 20th hour, there was a sharp rap on the door. In exact synchronisation, a house elf placed his hand in an alcove near the door and the two massive doors opened to allow the two Malfoys in. Wordlessly, Abraxas handed his cloak and cane to the house elf and proceeded towards the salon, from which soft music was heard and candle light flickered from under the door.

Another house elf, posted at the salon doors, opened them to allow passage, announcing:

'Master and Mistresses, Lord Malfoy and his heir have arrived,' spoke the elder elf, in ceremonial tone, no doubt picked up from his master.

'Abraxas,' said Cygnus getting up from his chair to shake his friend's hand. 'And Lucius. A pleasure to see you both-I see that the summer holiday has treated you well.'

Abraxas shook his outstretched hand

'The pleasure is all mine Lord Black,' said Lucius. 'I quite enjoyed my summer, I don't feel very excited to be back at Hogwarts.'

'Cygnus, please, we've known each other for quite a while, and you have become a man now.'

Greetings were exchanged with the rest of the family, Abraxas kissing Druella's hand and complimenting her on her attire, while saying a kind word or two to each of the young ladies. Lucius greeted Druella conform expectations, Bellatrix as an old friend, since the two had their own group in Slytherin, while giving Andromeda a greeting bordering on disrespect, due to the animosity between them.

Narcissa was an unknown entity to him, but she adhered to his tastes, so Lucius bowed from the waist to kiss her hand.

'Miss Black, I am delighted to see you again,' said Lucius.

'Mister Malfoy, such formality between us. Bella and you are as inseparable as Daddy and your father. I must insist you call me Narcissa.'

'Only if you call me Lucius.'

'I believe I can do that,' said Narcissa, while on cue Lucius offered his arm to escort her to the dinning room.

It seemed as though Abraxas was not the only one to have come up with the idea of pairing Lucius with one of the Black sisters. In fact, the seating plan seemed dedicated to that idea. Druella realized that Bellatrix was out of the question, since she was sort of dating Rodolphus, but she had high hopes for next-in-line Andromeda. As such, Lucius was sandwiched in between Bellatrix that sat next to Narcissa, and Andromeda that sat next to her mother. Abraxas and Cygnus sat next to each other, seeing as they had the most in common.

Unfortunately, Druella's plans of setting her daughter on the right path by marrying her to the Malfoy heir had completely backfired. By the end of the main course Lucius had spoken a measly six words to Andromeda in the romantic and eloquent form of 'Could you please pass the salt?' His time was spent instead catching up with Bella, and at the witch's insistence telling her more about Rodolphus and how he was doing. This of course led to Narcissa being ignored, something that the young girl was not accustomed to, which contributed further to her irritation of the evening. By the time tea and cognac was served, the younger wizard and witches mood was turning sour.

'Lucius,' Bella whispered while they were making their way towards the salon. 'Have you noticed mother's not so subtle attempts to introduce Andromeda to you?'

'It has not escaped me,' replied Lucius. 'And Bella, although I really like your mother, and she has been always very dear to me, does she realize that Andromeda and I have nothing in common, nor will we ever get along properly?'

'She is desperate about her, we all are. Not an ounce of proper Black in that one. If I didn't know mother better, I would say Daddy is not her father,' said Bella.

'That would be an outrage that would shock our high society,' snickered Lucius. 'Narcissa seems far more proper, however,' said Lucius, casting a glance towards the fair-haired girl walking ahead of him.

'Why Lucius, I did not know you cared for her in that sense… Tsk, you know it would be improper for you to propose to the youngest of Blacks, when there are two unmarried ones,' replied Bella, batting her eyelashes in mock adoration towards her friend. If Lucius were the sort of man to wear his feelings on his sleeves, he would have been blushing furiously at the moment.

'Bella, what would Rodolphus say? Mind you he can't best me in a duel, but I am sure he would still try,' said Lucius in a mocking tone. 'I did not mean it like that, though. I merely complimented your family on their most excellent daughter.'

'Of course you did Lucius, never meant anything about it,' laughed Bella, just as they were entering the salon.

'Cissy, do you realize that in less than two weeks time we are going back to Hogwarts,' said Bella, turning towards her sister.

'I don't quite share your enthusiasm Bella,' replied Narcissa, creasing down an invisible fold of her robe. 'I always found that place rather dull, with too many people I don't like.'

'Perhaps this year will prove more interesting…' implied Bella.

'Since it is your last year?' asked Narcissa while sipping tea.

'Not really what I meant,' said Bella looking at Lucius, who raised an eyebrow in return 'But we'll see.'

As the hour was getting late, Abraxas looked pointedly at Lucius and then at the door. A discreet nod from his son was the cue he needed as he stood up, putting his glass down.

'Cygnus, Druella, this has been a pleasure, but I am afraid we must leave you,' said Abraxas.

'Surely you could stay longer?' inquired Druella politely.

'I am afraid I have early business to attend to in the morning,' replied Abraxas. 'Thank you for a lovely evening.'

Lucius stood to take his goodbyes as well. 'Bella, I guess I shall see you at the ball on Sunday,' said Lucius, kissing her on the cheek.

'I don't know, I'll see if I can find the time to attend,' replied Bella dramatically. Lucius merely grinned and turned towards the youngest.

'Narcissa, I am sorry we did not get to talk more, but the seating arrangement was awkward,' said Lucius, kissing her hand.

'Not a problem Lucius, I trust I shall have your company for the ball on Sunday.'

'My company and my full attention, Narcissa,' replied Lucius, smiling at her and turning to Andromeda.

'Good evening Andromeda,' said Lucius, briefly brushing his lips against her hand. 'It has been a pleasure as always.' Andromeda merely looked annoyed at the sarcasm dripping from his voice, but let it slide without comment.

After taking his goodbyes from Cygnus and Druella, with the promise to see them again shortly, Lucius and his father exited Ravensden and walked towards the apparition point. Abraxas, as usual was the one to break the silence.

'Did you have a good time Lucius?'

'Yes it was entertaining,' replied Lucius curtly.

'Do you want to come to the Manor?' asked Abraxas, his usual commanding voice less powerful.

'No father, I will go straight to the townhouse. That is, unless you have some business with me?' inquired Lucius formally.

'No, no business whatsoever,' crisped up Abraxas. 'Good night Lucius.'

'Good night father.'

A soft double pop marked the Disapparation of the two, leaving the gardens of Ravensden dead quiet.

The Lestranges Ball was the social event of the autumn. As such, anybody who was someone in the wizarding world was in attendance. The large congregation of Purebloods in one place made it a very useful place for socializing, arranging alliances and cementing business deals. Their reputation being on the line, the Lestranges spared no expense at its organization.

A soft pop marked the appearance of Abraxas Malfoy. Two ceremonial guards, with staffs rather than wands opened the gates without question, allowing the Malfoy patriarch in the gardens.

A loud thump could be heard, made by the banging of a staff on the marble floor. 'Announcing Lord Abraxas Malfoy,' the guard spoke in reverent tones. Several heads turned around at the announcement, and the murmur dimmed to some extent. Spotting Cygnus on the far side, near the fireplace, Abraxas navigated his way around the crowd, greeting, joking, promising and receiving assurances of favours to come. His grand tour of the chamber complete, he took a glass of red wine from the tray an elf was carrying and greeted his friend and his wife.

'Abraxas, a pleasure to see you,' said Druella. 'You must excuse me though, I see Lady Lestrange and I have something to tell her.' The tactful retreat left the two men alone; free to conduct their business undisturbed.

'Where is Lucius?' asked Cygnus, his eyes looking around the chamber searching for him.

'I don't know, he did promise he would come though, so I am not worried.' Replied Abraxas calmly.

'Have you given any thought as to what you will implicate him in once he finishes his schooling?' asked Cygnus.

'I plan to induct him into the Nobilitas. I shall push for placing him in some position in the party, perhaps co-ordinating our affairs in the House of Commons,' said Abraxas.

'He will not like that posting. Lucius despises dealing with their kind,' replied Cygnus. 'Haven't you given any thought about placing him somewhere in the Ministry?'

'He's too young for that. If I hand him life on a platter, he will never grow to amount something of himself. Now, I have decided. He will start in the party, I plan to have him elected to the House of Commons, and then move his way up. I must prepare him for taking up the Lordship, so he must learn the intricacies of politics,' said Abraxas.

'He is your son, after all. I am sure he will perform adequately. Speaking of the devil,' said Cygnus, gesturing towards the entrance door, where the guard was announcing him in.

Lucius took the assembly in, while searching for Bella and Rodolphus. Finally, spotting them sitting on the opposite side of the room he was in, he cursed his misfortune, as he had to cross the entire length of the hall. True to his reputation, he put forward a charming smile, and strode intently towards his friends. Not five steps into the room, he was accosted by Marie Parkinson, and her mother.

'Lucius, what a pleasure to see you here,' exclaimed Mrs Parkinson, in a false cheery voice. In fact, false and cheery described Mrs Parkinson perfectly. She was moderately tall, of French descent, with the adequate hating of British Cuisine, and always wore a polite smile and a kind word. In private, she was one of the most vicious women you could come across.

'Lady Parkinson, the pleasure is all mine,' said Lucius, bowing curtly at the waist.

'I trust you've met my daughter, Marie?' asked Mrs. Parkinson, gesturing towards her pretty, but unremarkable daughter standing next to her.

'Of course I have, she is in Narcissa's year,' said Lucius, causing Mrs. Parkinson's attitude to frost over slightly. 'Marie, you look wonderful as ever.'

'Well, she has been talking all summer of how Hogwarts will not be the same without you. Slytherin House will seem empty without a Malfoy,' said Mrs. Parkinson.

'I am afraid we must all at one point move on with our lives. I enjoyed my time in Hogwarts, but it is time to move towards greater things,' said Lucius, causing the two Parkinsons to break out into sheep like nods. 'It has been a pleasure Ladies, I hope you enjoy yourselves tonight,' and with a flourish and a curt nod proceeded to make his way towards Rodolphus, leaving a disappointed Mrs Parkinson behind.

'Lucius, are we going to be celebrating your wedding with Marie anytime soon?' asked Rodolphus, earning himself a death glare from Lucius, and a laugh from Bella.

'The thought had not occurred to me, no,' replied Lucius calmly. 'I do believe that was where that conversation was supposed to end though.'

'Too sad for the Parkinsons then,' replied Bella. 'So, have you two given any thought about what we are going to do this year?'

'Same old Hogwarts, really,' started Rodolphus. 'We'll go to school, wasting our time on that idiotic train, when we could apparate there-'

'Rodolphus, how can you even consider this?' interrupted Lucius with mock horror. 'It's not fair to the Mudbloods, since the Ministry doesn't allow them to Aparate!'

'Yes Rodolphus, 'said Bella adding her sarcasm to the matter. 'I thought you would be more considerate towards them. I don't think I can stand you being so bigoted.'

'Enough you two, I have had quite enough of your sarcasm,' replied Rodolphus in good nature. 'We need to make this year special. It's our last one.'

'I don't know about you, but I can't wait until I graduate. Hogwarts bores me lately,' drawled Lucius.

'I don't think you'll have that impression afterwards, but each to his own I suppose,' replied Bella, annoyed that Lucius' eyes had drifted from the conversation. 'What is it Lucius?'

'That man your sister is dancing with, who is he?' asked Lucius, his eyes narrowing at the stranger.

'Some French wizard mother invited,' replied Rodolphus 'I can't remember his name though.' Bella's eyes turned to the interruption, taking in a French wizard, who looked about 20 years of age, with brown hair. The usually composed Narcissa was smiling and whispering to him while they were waltzing.

Lucius made his way across the dance floor, ignoring the people around him, until he reached the couple.

'You wouldn't mind if I were to interrupt, would you?' asked Lucius, staring down at Narcissa's dancing partner.

'Mr. Malfoy,' started the French pompously 'I am Pierre Delacroix.'

'Enchante,' said Lucius, taking Narcissa's now free hand and proceeding to ignore the Frenchman, who now turned an ungainly shade of red.

'That was very rude of you Lucius,' said Narcissa, looking up at her dance partner.

'Perhaps,' said Lucius 'but I do remember I was supposed to make it up to you after dinner on Wednesday.'

'And you decided to do that by scaring away my dance partner?' laughed Narcissa. 'I wonder what you would have done if you were actually escorting me to the ball.'

'Who knows?' replied Lucius mysteriously, continuing to dance to the elegant tunes of the waltz. No more words were exchanged between the two until the end of the dance.

'You are a wonderful dancer Lucius,' replied Narcissa, bowing slightly.

'Yes, my mother put great importance on it,' replied Lucius, looking slightly downcast. Narcissa choose not to reply on the sensitive subject, merely nodding and walking back with Lucius towards Rodolphus and her sister. Unfortunately, their path was intersected by the former dancer.

'Mr. Malfoy,' snapped Pierre. 'You have insulted me tonight, and I demand satisfaction!' The guests nearby froze at the declaration, causing the rest of the chamber to crank their necks trying to hear what had happened.

'Don't be foolish boy!' replied Lucius, his posture changing from elegant to vicious.

'You refuse my challenge?' said Pierre. 'Have you no honour?'

'What challenge?' mocked Lucius. 'All I heard was whining.'

'I, Pierre Delacroix, pureblooded to the fifth generation challenge Lucius Malfoy to a duel of honour.'

'Very well,' replied Lucius. 'Remember that I had given you the chance to back down. Who is your second?'

'Francois,' said Pierre. A huge man, his size making you wonder of his purity, made his way from the audience to join his friend.

'Rodolphus,' said Lucius, turning towards his friend. 'Will you be my second?'

'Of course, Lucius, although I don't think I'll be needed,' said Rodolphus, sneering at the two French.

Lady Lestrange was shocked. A duel at her ball! Could they not have agreed to take it up in the morning? Despite her feeble protests, the duellers made their way outside, in the garden, preparing themselves. Abraxas looked unfazed, although Cygnus had commented that he should try to stop it.

'Lucius can take care of himself old friend,' said Abraxas 'I have no worries.'

Lord Lestrange, as host was obliged to set the terms. It was a useful custom, preventing unnecessary bloodshed, in the case of a sane host that was ingrained in pureblood code as much as mudblood hating.

'Wizards, the duel will commence as follows. No_Avada Kedavra_ curses will be used, as well as any others causing instant death. The duel will end at first blood or in disarmament,' proclaimed Lord Lestrange. 'I do not want to see a death here.' Seeing the two combatants nod, and make their way to their respective sides of the impromptu duelling arena, he set off sparks from his wand signalling the beginning of the duel.

'_Expelliarmus!' _shouted Pierre, forgetting that yelling a spell did nothing for its potency. Lucius was content to merely deflect the curse back, with a flick of his wand, causing Pierre to put up a hasty _Protego_. Seeing that his initiative had no effect, Pierre fired four rapid_Expelliarmus_, followed by a _Stupefy_ in the centre, in a checker pattern, hoping that Lucius could not deflect them all. Calmly, Lucius spun around, avoiding the first too, using a Protego to absorb the stunner and for the first time since the start of the duel, fired a bludgeoning hex at his opponent. Distracted by looking at his fancy spellwork, and expecting results, his meagre _Protego_ had no chance to stop the powerful spell, which ripped through his shield, bashed against his body, twisting him in mid air and throwing him against a tree, making him loose his wand in the process.

Lord Lestrange called off the duel and went to inspect Pierre, who was sporting a bloody arm from where he scrapped on the ground, and had lost his wand.

'According to the rules, Mr. Malfoy is declared the winner,' announced Lestrange, under polite applause from the audience. Lucius bowed slightly, then went to help Pierre up, who embarrassed, accepted the outstretched hand.

By the time the last guests were about to leave, the event was nearly forgotten, with Lady Lestrange's nerves very grateful that the duel ended shortly and with minor wounds. A death would have attracted the ministry and no one needed their meddlesome bureaucrats.

It was a peaceful period, and occasional duels were means for the young to blow off some steam, rather than engage in other perilous activities.

Meanwhile, in Muggle London, on a filthy alley

A weirdly dressed man strode through the unlikely destination of East End, his destination not known yet. A gang of robbers, thinking their target easy prey followed him to a dark alley, one that ended in a brick wall and mounds of trash.

'Hey, you better give us all you got, if you want to live,' said the tallest, and coincidentally the smelliest of the three.

'Be quiet Muggle, I am thinking,' replied the man in an eerie serpentine voice.

'Hey boys, we have ourselves a crazy one,' replied the one who looked to be second in command. 'Let's show him how life is in the real world.' The wizard did not reply, but turned around, and perhaps if the three were sober or had any mental faculties, the murderous glance the wizard threw them would have caused them to run away.

'_Avada Kedavra,'_ hissed the wizard, aiming the deadly curse at the tallest man. The two remained gob smacked at the sudden collapse of their leader, until the wiser one attempted to run away. After another set of killing curses, the other two joined their leader in whatever stood as the after life for the three criminals. Just then the clouds cleared, and the pale moonlight revealed a pair of red eyes that flashed with hate, malevolence and disgust at the world.


	3. Incompertus Inscribo

A/N: usual disclaimer applies. Enjoy.

On Knockturn Alley, the coming of night signified the beginning of activity. Hags selling human fingers for 16 sickles per pound, and diseased witches selling their bodies for not much more were a common sight. All seemed to be striding in the darkness, hiding, having quiet conversations, most generally ending with daggers and wands being drawn. None of that seemed to bother a tall man, dressed in black robes and cloak, with his hood pulled far over his head, effectively concealing his face, as he strode through the alley, head held high. All seemed to avoid him, frightened, or perhaps just cautious. His clothes were of excellent quality, although unadorned, and that made him an uncommon sight; an unknown entity. All these precautionary thoughts meant nothing to a short fat wizard, dressed in soiled robes that stood at the entrance of a shambled brothel.

'Sir, would the gentleman like to have some entertainment tonight?' leered the short man, pulling one of the wretched creatures forward. She looked young, no older than 16 and in a miserable state that did not prevent her master to laude her features telling her how she had Veela ancestors. The mysterious man made no reply but did pause his stride to look at the girl.

'If the sir is shy, I am sure we can arrange…' started the squat man putting a hand on the taller man's arm. Quickly a wand was drawn with a sick green light gathering at the tip, pointed towards the shorter man.

'Did I give you permission to touch me, filth?' spoke the man, holding the curse from ending the life of the vermin in front of him. The brothel master nearly involuntarily released his body fluids, but backed away slowly from the more powerful wizard.

'Sorry sir, I did not mean any, I, Master, Sir…' blabbered the whore master.

'The girl you wanted to offer me. How old is she?' asked the man, his wand still pointed at the annoyance.

'Just turned seventeen Sir, I run a respectable establishment,' said the whore master, his courage coming back to him in small doses. Perhaps he could still make some business tonight. 'I have younger though, if that is what interests you sir…'

'You will release the girl!' ordered the taller man.

'Sir I can't do that. She cost me a fortune, she…' blabbered the man.

'_Avada Kedavra!'_ hissed the former potential customer, releasing the full strength of the curse he had called forward, ending the whore master's life before he had a chance to draw breath again. Turning towards the girl, who was shaking with fear from seeing her master killed, but happy to have gotten rid of him, 'How old are you really girl?'

'I am fifteen Sir,' said the girl. The man reached in his robe, pulling a heavy laden bag with galleons and throwing it at the girl. 'Go and make something better with your life.' said the man, turning to leave, hearing the girl's 'thank yous' being repeated like a mantra.

In the time it took for him to reach his intended destination, he wondered why he had saved the life of one underage prostitute by killing her master. Merlin knows, by the time he would leave the alley, a new one would take the whore master's place and more orphaned girls would become whores. Still, he despised this area of society. The economic failures of the Directorate led to a lack of jobs, turning many elements of society towards despicable practices. Sighing at the apparent collapse of his society around him, he continued towards his destination. His final call in Knockturn Alley showed the same prosperity that the rest of the street exuded. A precarious timber building, with a dingy wooden door and a creaky wrought iron sign, proclaiming the establishment 'The Magi's Cup, established 200 BC'. His thoughts drifted to the history of the place, as he was taught by his father in what seemed centuries ago. Back in those days the establishment was beginning to show signs of its uncertain future, but was still a famous inn in the wizarding world. The whole street was far more prosperous in that age and a gathering place where both wizard and vampire could share a drink in relative peace. Tensions existed even back then, but the necessity to get along made Knockturn Alley possible. With the Ministry becoming preponderant Mudblood occupied, they brought their fear of the darker elements to bear, which degraded Knockturn Alley to the state it was in now. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, the wizard opened the door and entered the bar. Except for the occasional vampire nursing a blood goblet and shabby dressed wizards after an exhausting day at work enjoying some mead before having to return to their families and worries, the bar was empty. Making his way to the bar and quietly slipping a few galleons to the bartender for his discreet arrangement, a young server took him to a back room. A dark man, who looked to be of Italian descent, sat in a large armchair, apparently unaware of the situation around him, or the appearance of another customer. To the trained eye, however, the man was keeping a hand under the table, probably containing his wand, and his posture was tense, being prepared to curse anything or anyone entering through the door. When the man moved to speak, the server jumped in fright, but a few sickles and a pat on the back reassured him enough to go and close the door soundly behind him.

'A lovely weather tonight, isn't it? One Vladimir would enjoy greatly,' said the Italian wizard, without removing his hands from under the table, or raising his head.

'I doubt that, Vladimir hated the cold,' replied the other wizard.

'Not if he had his manticore robes,' said the Italian.

'He would have worn the fur robes, not the manticore ones,' replied the other wizard.

The process, rehearsed and perfected, led to the desired result. The atmosphere relaxed, and a flick of a wand from the Italian individual put up a privacy ward, allowing free speech.

'Lord Black, it is an honour to serve you,' said the Italian, standing up and bowing on one knee. 'I apologise for the mystery and the password, but I am sure you can understand the need for secrecy.'

'Nonsense Roberto, the information you usually bring me far outweighs any discomfort your habits produce…' replied Cygnus ', although, the urgency of the message greatly intrigued me.'

'It is on par with the size of the news my lord,' said Roberto. 'My sources in Europe tell me of the rise of a Dark Lord. One who has been cajoling and persuading wizards to follow him in his ideals. He calls himself Lord Voldemort, although I doubt that is his actual name. The people that were in contact with him, even for a short while were awed by his power.'

'A Dark Lord in the mainland?' asked Cygnus, more to himself than to his interlocutor. 'Well thirty years have passed since the last one. I presume the time was right. What is his ideology?'

'The eradication of Muggles, and the belief that Mudbloods and Half-bloods should be consider lesser than purebloods,' replied Roberto, taking a sip from his wine and grimacing at the sour taste it left in his mouth.

'They are lesser, but that ideology is dangerous. It would draw many young purebloods, ready for someone to champion their cause,' said Cygnus. 'Sadly, it is often the case that Dark Lord's do not ultimately pursue their cause, but use it as an excuse for their attempt at power, for gathering followers. I doubt Lord Voldemort is any different. Thank you for bringing this to my ears, continue to investigate discreetly,' said Cygnus, handing a pouch with Galleons.

'I live to serve, my lord,' said Roberto, gathering the money, and placing it deep in his dark robes. 'The password for our next encounter will be…' Cygnus stood to leave the room, when a cough by his spy made him turn around.

'There is one more thing worthy to be mentioned,' said Roberto 'The Dark Lord is coming to England…'

The House of Lords was quiet, with still two weeks to go until the October session, no one bothered to come to their offices. Of course, normal rules did not apply to Abraxas Malfoy. Having nothing to look forward to at home, he buried himself in his work. He was looking over some briefs sent by the Nobilitas faction in the House of Commons, warning them about what the House was trying to pass now. It looked to be nothing good, and the thick roll of parchment was beginning to give him a headache. Thankfully, the door opened to reveal Cygnus Black, dressed in plain black robes.

'Cygnus, I did not know you were in the building,' said Abraxas, raising an eyebrow at his friend, who looked completely out of place with the opulent room.

'I was not, I've just arrived. Something has happened, which promises nothing good,' replied Cygnus, taking his cloak off and banishing it to the wardrobe at the far end of the office.

'I already know, Cygnus,' replied Malfoy, gesturing towards the parchment spread on his desk. 'An aide brought the papers from the House of Commons.'

'Not the Commons,' said Cygnus. 'Something larger, and with the potential to cause more mayhem in our society than the Mudbloods can in a year,' proceeding to inform his friend about all that his spy reported. By the time he was finished, the elder Malfoy was frowning.

'Do you know what effect this will have on the young,' snapped Abraxas. 'Lucius would join in at the first mention.'

'That is why we need to inform our children,' replied Cygnus 'we need to explain the dangers, and to make sure they would not foolishly jump at the chance this Voldemort is offering.'

It was a stormy night, with rain pouring from the skies and the wind batting it against the windows of an imposing house. Seen from afar, the house would have seemed haunted for the weak minded, with a dark façade and lights flickering from the top floor's windows. The source of the flickering light was a lit fireplace and dozens of candles, giving a warm, comfortable mood to the room. After the dreary nights spent in the northern wilderness, Lord Voldemort certainly enjoyed the warmth.

Footsteps could be heard, pounding against the old wooden flooring. His eyes cast upon the parchment in front of him, Voldemort did not deign to cast a glance. He did not need to, for there was only one other occupant to the house, one far more accustomed to the cold than he was.

'My lord,' started Karkaroff 'I have brought the information you requested,' said Igor, drawing a thick roll of parchment from his snow white robes.

'Excellent, Igor, excellent,' said Voldemort, his eyes never leaving the parchment. 'I shall look over them later. Why don't you summarise their content?'

Although the words were friendly, and the proposal seemed innocent enough, the tone of the voice send a shiver up Karkaroff's spine. The league with the Dark Lord had brought him power he had never imagined possible, but every time he spoke, the serpentine hiss his voice carried made Karkaroff afraid to the bone. Lord Voldemort merely smiled in pleasure, noticing the proud wizard's discomfort.

'Igor? The parchment…'

'Apologies, my lord,' said Karkaroff. 'The two you were interested in will be at the Blood Chalice tomorrow night.' Lord Voldemort merely nodded, then waved his hand towards the door. Recognizing his cue, Karkaroff made a small bow, and then strode towards the door. Although the man was too vain for his own good, he had some use for him. The uncanny ability to obtain information, trivial as that may be, made him his most useful follower. Laughing at the irony of calling his only follower his most useful, he looked down at the parchment he had been studying for the better part of the night. Baring his revenge on his father and his family, he considered it his greatest work thus far. Igor had had his input in its creation, but he lacked the wisdom to see the bigger picture.

The list of all the Hogwarts graduates from the past 5 years, of proper stock, their political allegiances, their beliefs on mudbloods, romantic interests, petty jealousies, inmost desires, any little detail. Nothing had escaped the Dark Lord's attention. Karkaroff's social standing, as well as attending countless useless social events had led to its creation. For what was power if there was no one to see it? How could one ascend to leadership without followers? Gathering and compiling the information had been the work of two years now. A lesser wizard might have rushed things, but Lord Voldemort's patience knew no bounds, at least when it came to ascending to power. Alas, tonight, he would abandon the sickening role of librarian he had been reduced too, and resume the dark lord mantle.

The fates seemed to favour the cold blooded, for in the next day the skies cleared, allowing precious sunlight throughout the land. Wizards and witches throughout the realm stirred from their beds, ready to proceed with another day. That is to say, most of them did. Normal rules did not apply to a Rosier. His father certainly did not think as such, but then again what could the old man know. All he did was go to meetings and rot away. Gladly awaiting the day he would no longer be subject to the horror of being cast into the shadow by his father, Evan turned around cursing at the house elf muttering about the room. His mind went back to the night before, but the results came hazy. No matter, whatever happened was probably typical for him-pleasurable moments with no long lasting consequences.

'What time is it elf?' asked Evan, turning around to look at the diminutive creature.

'It is a quarter past two Master Evan,' replied the house elf. 'Would you like to have lunch served?'

'Of course,' said Evan, his muscles reminding him of last night's revelry as he tried to get up.

'I will notify the kitchens,' said the elf, disappearing with a pop.

After the ritualistic cleaning and dressing, Evan descended to the dinning room, his lunch spread out on the oak table, two house elves in attendance should he require anything. Lunch or breakfast, should one decide to be pretentious about naming them was a pleasant recovery for the young wizard. Satisfied, he dismissed the elves with a wave of his hand and stood, exiting the room for the salon. His wand was in his hand in an instant, a skill he took great pride in and his _'Incendio'_ was just as efficient. As soon as the spell impacted the back wall of the fireplace, pleasant yellow flames erupted. A quick snap of the wrist and some Floo powder turned the flames green.

'Mulciber House,' said Evan, the complex routing system at the ministry detecting the ambient magic of the words and bringing the destined fireplace in connection with the original, the process unknown to the caller or receiver for that matter. A house elf appeared in the flames, his features distorted by the flickering.

'Elf, get your master, I have to speak with him!' snapped Evan.

'Master Mulciber is currently at the Ministry young master,' replied the elf, his manner respectful.

'Not him, the young one,' snapped Evan. Honestly, couldn't the elf tell whom he meant to call. These creatures were the embodiment of stupidity. If it were not for their efficiency in house cleaning, skills most proper wizards lacked they would have been wiped out long ago. The house elf bowed and disappeared, his face replaced shortly by that of his Hogwarts friend.

'Evan, I see you are up early,' said Maltius, stifling a yawn. 'Why must you bother me with your weird, working class schedule?'

'If I had a working class schedule I doubt I would have called for this matter,' said Evan, smirking at his friend's attempt at humour. 'Now, I don't have time for useless rambling. Have you sorted out the reservations for tonight?' Maltius' face frosted over, as much as it was possible within the flames.

'Who do you take me for?' asked Maltius. 'Am I not Maltius Mulciber, the ever flowing corn of night time ventures and socialising abundance?'

'Enough, you buffoon!' snapped Evan, amused to some extent, but annoyed by the repeating ritual. He guessed it must have been his divine punishment for rising before the official hour.

'If you must be so anti-social perhaps I must not take you with me,' said Maltius, his words retracted once his friend's manner turned to angry. 'Fine, if you must be so stiff about the matter. We have reservations at the Blood Chalice at ten tonight. Pray do remember that the dress is formal and that there are lesser beings around.'

'I do, I do. Now be on your way,' said Evan, cutting their conversation short. 'Wait, do you remember anything from last night?'

'Aside from the fact that I had a smashing time, no,' replied Maltius. 'Why ask?'

'I have this nagging feeling that something significant happened,' replied Evan, his mind trying to clear itself up. 'It's not important. I will meet you at the Cauldron at nine thirty then. Good day.'

Stretching to pass the time, he went into the Library. His monthly Borgin and Burke delivery had come last week and there were some items of interest.

Prompt as always, at nine twenty nine, a crack marked the appearance of Evan Rosier at the Apparition Point on Diagon Alley. The stores were beginning to close and the crowd was migrating towards the pub. After deciding there was nothing worth his interest, he made his way towards the Leaky Cauldron. A quick nod towards Tom, and he was whisked into the private rooms in the back, to find Maltius nursing a glass of Firewhiskey, his feet put up on the chair next to him.

'You do know that drinking before the night has even started will only lead to trouble later on in life,' said Evan, his voice dripping with sarcastic virtuousness.

'You remind me of my father,' replied Maltius 'and, before you start, it is not a compliment.'

'How could it ever be a compliment,' replied Evan, taking the seat across, careful to not let his cloak snag or crumple beneath him. 'Now, do you know more about the place we're going to?'

'Very little,' replied Maltius, 'although it must seem boundless to you. It is not a reputable place, frequented mostly by people who enjoy more forbidden pleasures in life.'

'All I know is that it's not the place you go to in reputable company?' said Evan. 'that and the fact that it is the number one entertainment nowadays in our circles.'

'Ah so you do know very little,' said Maltius sneering at his friend. 'No problems, I understand. I was always the smarter one during school.' Evan angered at the statement and made to draw his wand.

'Dear Merlin you are tense tonight,' observed Maltius, putting his hands up to show he meant no harm. 'Has something happened?'

'Is it true that the place is a gathering of vampires?' said Evan, no longer able to contain himself.

'That is what makes it so interesting,' said Maltius, raising his glass to his lips. 'What better enjoyment to be had then the forbidden, with the outcasts?'

'I don't know… Are you sure Maltius?' asked Evan. 'Vampires are frowned upon in our society for good measure.'

'You are beginning to sound like your father,' replied Maltius, irritated at his friend's attitude. 'Consider this: creatures that roam the land only at night would make for the best party companions. Nonetheless, it is time to go. That is, unless you are scared.'

'Scared?' asked Evan. 'I am a wizard and I have my wand with me. There is nothing to fear in this world.' Maltius shrugged and withdrew several sickles to pay for the bottle, gathering his cloak, sweeping it over his shoulders and leaving the Cauldron with a flourish.

The same wizarding disdain for lesser creatures was experienced by Karkaroff as he followed his master through a dark forest. Except this one was accompanied by a healthy dose of fear.

'Master, why must we approach these creatures?' asked Karkaroff, trying to summon an aristocratic calm, but failing.

'They are merely tools, Igor,' replied Voldemort, annoyed at being questioned, but restraining his anger, filling it away for future use. 'Tools to be used and then cast aside, when they are no longer useful…' A slight twitch of a branch in front of them caused Igor to lose his calm, drawing his wand and casting the Killing Curse in its direction. Voldemort shook his head at the man's nervousness, and then moved to cast aside the leaves, revealing a dead deer.

'I was not aware this was a hunting expedition,' replied Voldemort, pointing towards the corpse. Deep in thought, he considered the usefulness of his servant in the forest and decided his talents would be wasted here. 'Igor, I want you to go to the Blood Chalice and prepare the two for my arrival.'

'Master, I apologise, I didn't mean to…' started Igor, embarrassed at having lost his calm.

'It is no matter Igor,' replied Voldemort, with a voice that would have appeared soothing if one did not know the Dark Lord. 'Now go!' snapped Lord Voldemort. With a quick bow, Igor disapparated, leaving his master unaccompanied in the forest. Thankful, at being alone, Lord Voldemort continued his trek, until he reached the entrance of a large cave. Howls could be heard from the inside, as well as something that sounded like fighting. Curling his lips in disgust at the animal-like behaviour, but quickly hiding it, he turned towards the two guards, who barred their teeth at him.

Resisting the urge to kill the two on spot for not displaying the proper respect, he removed his hands from his robes, showing them he meant no harm.

'What are you doing here, wizard?' asked the leading member, a tall brute, whose wolf features seemed apparent even in his human form.

'Tell your master that Lord Voldemort is here to speak with him,' snarled Voldemort, annoyed at the disrespect he was being shown. Soon, these creatures would learn their place, he promised himself, but he must first use them. Obviously having been announced beforehand that Lord Voldemort was coming, the brute entered the dark cave, leaving the smaller one with the Dark Lord.

Thankful, that he would not have to wait, not trusting himself to torture the creature in front of him for his disrespect, Lord Voldemort raised his eyes to see the brute return. His demeanour changed, Lord Voldemort observed, pleased at his success thus far.

'My apologies, Lord,' replied the lead guard. 'Alpha Greyback will see you now.' The werewolf gestured towards the cave, leading the way for the Dark Lord. As they were going deeper into the wolf's den, Lord Voldemort had the chance to observe his surroundings. The cave seemed a natural occurrence, although dark magic permeated the air. The lights were rare and flickered pitifully, not managing to push back the darkness. Different tunnels branched off from the main one, leading to Merlin knows where, although sounds of fighting and howling could be heard from the rooms. Analysing his companions for tonight, as well as the respect these guards seemed to hold for Fenrir, he realised that the Alpha was the only one he would have to convince. The rest would follow his lead.

The tunnel finally ended to display a larger room, bearing a perverse resemblance to a throne room, with twelve Werewolves sitting, forming a semi-circle around Fenrir Greyback himself. Statutes of wolves ready to attack and devour, in packs as was their habit surrounded the room, as well as crude paintings of the moon and wolves howling at it. Reminding himself that in these chambers, Fenrir was a king in all but name, and adjusting his attitude appropriately, Lord Voldemort overtook the guard and stepped in the circle, now surrounded by werewolves.

'Fenrir Greyback,' started Lord Voldemort, his back straight and his eyes piercing the werewolf's mind. Although the mind was foreign and difficult to comprehend for a wizard, baring the overwhelming bloodlust and hatred, Lord Voldemort saw snatches of intrigue and desire to know what a wizard could possibly offer to his pack.

'Lord Voldemort, I have heard of your exploits in Europe,' said Fenrir, almost the semblance of a civilised being. The open mouth and the slightly hunched figured ruined the illusion however. 'What brings you to my pack?'

'We shall skip the pleasantries then, if you desire,' said Lord Voldemort, his head turning to take in all the occupants of the room.

'For too long your kind has been oppressed by the Ministry. You are labelled as dark creatures, as uncivilised beings, worthy only of being caged like animals…' Fenrir stiffed at the speech, baring his fangs, but allowing him to continue.

'… You have never received the respect you deserve, for the Ministry can never understand you. They are weak fools, fearing those with power. They label them as dark and cowardly hunt them with great numbers and legislation. I hold no such beliefs. As you can see, I have come alone.'

'We know about the situation with the Ministry, Lord Voldemort, you are telling us nothing new,' said Fenrir. 'We cannot fight them, they are too many, and so we are forced to hide in forests while they stay in their gleaming mansions and ministry.'

'You do not have too, my friends,' said Lord Voldemort gravely 'A shifting tide is coming to Britain. Society will change. The labels dark creature, animal, will no longer be applied to any dark being!'

'A change, eh?' said one of the twelve 'And who would bring about the change, you are talking about?'

'I will,' stated Lord Voldemort calmly. 'I will take power in the name of the Dark Creatures. Together we can bring about the revolution that will change our society.'

His eyes moved to take in every werewolf, his arms outstretched to show his intent. He could feel their anxiousness. Never had wizards approached them and propose such a thing. Even Dark Wizards tended to discard them as mere animals. That was not enough to convince them, however.

'Words are nice, Lord Voldemort,' said Fenrir, his mind more suspicious than his brethren 'but words are easy to say. Actions are the hard part.'

'I promise you, if you help me in my cause,' started Lord Voldemort, his manner turning grave, 'that once I have assumed leadership of the Wizarding World I will make you equal.'

He then turned to look directly at the leader. 'Fenrir, I know of your fascination with young children. So long as they are Muggle, I will not hold you accountable.' Looking back towards the rest, like a father handing out gifts to his children on Halloween.

'All of you-as long as it is muggles you go after, I will turn a blind eye. More so, I will give you land to create your own community. No longer will you have to hide in rank forests.'

The werewolves' excitement was reaching the point where their thoughts were broadcasted clear to Lord Voldemort. They had heard of his exploits in Europe, as a member of the Knights of Walpurgis, they knew he had power and he was offering them the chance to strike back at their enemies. Even Fenrir had become far more partial to the idea with the promises he was given.

'We need time to decide, Lord Voldemort,' said Fenrir, pulling a cord from behind his chair, calling a guard. 'The guard here will take you somewhere comfortable while we deliberate.'

'Certainly, I understand,' said Lord Voldemort turning to follow the werewolf. It had been too easy, he laughed inside his mind.

'Thank you, my friend,' he said to the werewolf, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Of course, he had no intention of following up with his promises, but he needed the werewolves. He would use them until they outlived their usefulness, and then he would see if they were worthy to live. They did not need to know that, however. Scoffing at the crude food and drink being placed in front of him, but deciding he could not offend his 'hosts' he took it, again thanking the guard.

The deliberation was short, and before Lord Voldemort's impatience caused him anger, he was escorted back to the council room.

'Lord Voldemort, we share the same ideals,' said Fenrir, his manner respectful. 'We will join your cause.'

'Excellent, friends, excellent,' said Lord Voldemort, drawing a parchment roll from his robes, his tone returning to the usual commanding voice.

'Here is a list of targets I ask you to eliminate,' said the Dark Lord, handing the parchment over to Fenrir, who opened it in curiosity. They were all medium profile targets, half-bloods, business owners, member of the House of Commons. Fenrir smiled when he saw the list included some individuals with the marking, 'families included', and frowned when he saw that some were clearly labelled 'individual only, family is not to be touched'.

'It will be done, my lord,' said Fenrir 'We will strike at them this week.'

'No, I want you to execute them in two weeks, when the full moon comes around,' interrupted Lord Voldemort. 'Let others know your power and fear it!'

With certain discussions aside, Lord Voldemort thanked his hosts, smiling falsely, and then made his way towards the exit, disapparating as soon as he was outside the wards.

Evan smiled, his mind abuzz from the drinks he had had. How could he have been as foolish to doubt his friend? The Blood Chalice was amazing, and some of the female vampires were appetising. They had met their old friend Karkaroff, who they had spent the night with drinking and complaining about mudbloods.

'If you two share my beliefs,' started Igor 'I have someone who can help us with the mudblood problem.'

'Really, who?' started Evan, impressed and rash. Maltius was more subdued, but his eyes opened in astonishment.

'His name is Lord Voldemort, he would meet you tonight, here if you please,' said Igor, gesticulating. 'He has the power to help us, and he hates mudbloods and muggles as much as all of us combined.'

'You praise me too much, Igor,' said Lord Voldemort from behind, causing three heads to turn in surprise.


	4. Warnings and Revelations

**A/N: usual disclaimer applies**

Things are starting to unfold now, with future lines of conflict being drawn. Sorry for the long absence, but I do not write or bother myself with fanfiction during vacations. Now that I am back wasting my life at university, they should be coming along faster.

Enjoy...

* * *

'My lord,' said Igor, rising from his chair 'I was merely stating the facts.'

'Sit down old friend,' replied Voldemort, a charming smile on his face as he put a hand on Igor's shoulder 'and introduce me properly to your friends.'

Maltius and Evan seemed to be charmed by Lord Voldemort's manner. Although Maltius was by nature the more obstinate of the two, even he seemed dazed by the person in front of him. He exuded a feeling of power, coupled with ambition, which despite his friendly manner, lent him an air of danger. Igor, during the time Lord Voldemort sat down and gestured to one of the vampire servers, had recovered enough of his voice to comply to the order.

'My lord,' started Igor, gesturing towards the two wizards seated across the table, 'this is Evan Rosier, pureblood to the fifth generation, and his school friend Maltius Mulciber, pureblood to the seventh generation.' The two nodded respectfully when each of their names was called off, proud features on their faces when their ancestry was mentioned. 'They were both in the noble house of Slytherin during their time in Hogwarts.'

The charade did not impact upon the two and Lord Voldemort, despite knowing the facts, and much more then that, nodded, even going as far as smiling at the two.

'Friends, this is Lord Voldemort, whom I have mentioned to you on countless occasions,' said Igor smoothly 'a descendant of great Salazar himself and a former Knight of Walpurgis.' At that the eyes of the two opened up to their maximum possible extent, as they rose from their chairs to shake hands. Lord Voldemort rose himself, a few seconds later, and shook their outstretched hands. The interaction was interrupted by the arrival of a server, a pretty little thing, whose small frame posed far more danger than she revealed. Upon seeing Lord Voldemort she bowed from the waist, lowered the drink on the table and departed, giving him his privacy. Evan did not notice the interaction, choosing to focus his attention on her female attributes, but Maltius did. He raised an eyebrow, since vampires were always extremely formal and polite, but rarely displayed such obvious respect for a wizard. He thought about inquiring onto the matter, but decided against.

'I have met the girl's sire in Europe, Maltius,' said Lord Voldemort, looking Mulciber in the eye 'he has helped me out of a difficult situation and I have repaid him in kind.'

'Lord Voldemort, I…' started Maltius, for once a witty retort missing from his lips.

'Lord Voldemort always knows Maltius,' replied Lord Voldemort, raising his glass to his lips, 'he always knows…' Evan watched the interaction with a confused look, but chose the safety of silence.

'My friends,' started Lord Voldemort, setting his glass down onto the table, appreciating the vintage, 'I have heard excellent things from Igor about your, shall we say, preferences of blood, but I wanted to hear it with my own ears.'

'Mudbloods are corrupting our society,' started Evan impetuously 'and the House of Lords do nothing.'

'They are too reactionary,' intervened Maltius 'they have the power, but they use it only to maintain the status quo.'

'But certainly, the odds are in our favour,' said Lord Voldemort. 'Besides polluting the blood and acting as an annoyance, what harm do they do?'

'I beg your pardon,' started Evan, his anger rising up 'but have you thought of the future?'

Igor blanched at Rosier's nerve, frightened of the reaction his master would have. Lord Voldemort's anger flared, but it was obvious on his features for less then a second, his smile returning.

'I have given a great deal of thought to the future,' said Lord Voldemort. 'Forgive me, I was merely playing Morgana's advocate.' Evan, whose anger had caused him to speak up, closed his mouth, confused as to the next step.

'Please forgive my friend, Lord Voldemort,' said Maltius. 'He has had an unfortunate occurrence with a mudblood, one that caused him some grievance.'

'Really,' said Lord Voldemort, faking surprise, 'what has happened?'

'I got rejected from the International Cooperation Department,' said Evan, his voice embittered, 'and when I look back, that posting was given to a Mudblood in our year, Oliver Brown. I know he does not have the skills, but the Department head is a muggle loving idiot.'

Lord Voldemort's manner turned cold, and it was as if the temperature dropped a few degrees.

'And what do you plan to do about it?'

'I tried,' said Evan, 'but my father has no contacts in that Department.'

'I did not mean it like such,' said Lord Voldemort. 'If the position were open, I could speak to the Department Head in your favour, if you still want the job.'

'Of course I want it,' said Evan, momentarily confused 'but Brown would never give it up.'

'He could be made too,' suggested Lord Voldemort. 'You only need to ask it.'

Maltius did not like the way the conversation was heading and was prepared to warn his friend. Evan held no such thoughts however, and he was quick to voice his desire for whatever Lord Voldemort was promising.

'Good,' said Lord Voldemort, finishing his drink. He tapped his wand on the globe that was on the table. Seeing the sum appear, Maltius reached into his coat, only to be stopped by Lord Voldemort placing the required amount on the table.

'In honour of our meeting, friends,' said Lord Voldemort. 'Now follow me.'

Once outside, Lord Voldemort withdrew an ornate quill from his robes, tapping it and saying 'Portus'. Reaching out a finger, they all touched the quill, the scenery changing quickly from urban to rural. A lone country house was present on the hill, flickering light from the ground floor windows signified someone was home. Recognizing the face, Evan was shocked to see his archenemy, together with his pretty young wife sitting at the dinner table. Lord Voldemort walked towards the front door, his three companions following him, sneered at the obvious muggle style and rapped on it three times. A chair scraping on wood and a feminine 'Coming' could be heard. A young woman, looking no older than 20, opened the door. Taking in the appearance of her four unexpected guests, she opened her mouth to let loose a greeting.

'Good evening,' said the woman 'you must be friends of Oliver.' Evan wanted to protest, but Lord Voldemort beat him to it.

'You are muggle, dear?' asked Lord Voldemort, slipping into the charming persona he so easily put forward, while putting a hand inside his robes.

'Yes,' laughed the woman, a pleasant care-free sound. To Lord Voldemort it felt as if a Goblin was scraping his brain tissue with a farm instrument.

'_Avada Kedavra!'_ To the shock of his three companions, and the girl, the green light moved forward, striking the woman, leading to her body falling loudly on the carpeted floor. A commotion could be heard, as Oliver understood the significance of the words and jumped forward, wand drawn. Upon reaching the hallway he stood perplexed at the sight of four extravagantly dressed wizards, one holding a wand out, while his muggle wife lay lifeless on the floor. Tears rushing into his eyes he rushed towards her.

'What have you done?' sniffed Oliver, holding his wife's body. 'What has Mary ever done to you?'

'She was born,' answered Lord Voldemort curtly, and then turned towards his followers. 'Evan, is this _it_?' he asked, his nose curled up in disgust.

'Yes my lord,' said Evan, pleased at his rival's situation.

'_Crucio!'_ Oliver started screaming, the weak hold he had on his wand lost as he trashed about in pain. Lord Voldemort ended the curse after fifteen seconds, not wanting his host to lose his mind just yet.

'Let's take this into the living room,' said Lord Voldemort, gesturing towards the mudblood. 'Igor, if you would be so kind as to close the door, it is impolite to conduct our business in public. Maltius, if you could escort our gracious host to the living room, please.'

The two snapped to attention, falling easily into their prescribed roles as Voldemort took charge of the situation. Evan followed him into the living room, a bound up Oliver alternating between fear and tears for his wife.

'Now Evan,' started Lord Voldemort, 'I would ask you give me some more time to work with him before you get your revenge. I promise to leave him relatively unharmed.'

'Of course my lord,' replied Evan, his hand twitching for his wand. 'I am grateful for the chance.'

'Now mudblood, you will see the dangers of defying a wizard,' said Lord Voldemort as he began his work on Oliver. 'Crucio!' The curse hit Oliver a second time out of many, eliciting even louder screams than before. Lord Voldemort seemed to revel, the screams music to his ears. Careful not to drive him to insanity just yet, he stopped the curse with a regretful look.

'Poor fool,' said Lord Voldemort in a condescending tone. 'Do you realise now the dangers of defying a pureblood?'

'What?' asked Oliver, in a state of shock. 'What do you mean? What have I done to you?' The impudence of asking a question of the Dark Lord earned him another round of Cruciatus.

'I do not explain myself to filth,' said Lord Voldemort once the curse ended. 'Let that be a lesson for the future, short as it may be. I did promise Evan I would leave you unharmed, but I can not let your attitude slide. Surely you understand.'

Oliver, whose mental state was beginning to wane due to the Cruciatus, nodded dumbly.

'Expello Viscus!' said Lord Voldemort, his wand pointed at Oliver's belly. The pale yellow curse hit Oliver's belly, a little rupture appearing, followed by a violent explosion while his intestines spewed forward spraying the plush purple carpet. Oliver moaned, in pain he had not thought possible. Blood started pouring out of the cavity that had previously housed his entrails in massive quantities, causing Oliver's awareness to slowly slip. Voldemort's three followers merely looked on in fascination.

'I rarely do this, but I did promise Evan his fun,' said Lord Voldemort. 'Episkey!' The ruptured flesh knitted itself back together, emanating a purple glow. His entrails however, remained on the floor.

'His entrails can't be helped I am afraid,' said Lord Voldemort looking at Rosier. '…so you will have to be rather expedient about it.' With that Voldemort bowed his head slightly, his left hand gesturing towards the near cadaver of Oliver. Evan needed no further cue as he walked forward, wand in hand, a gleeful look in his eyes.

Much to Evan's disappointment, Oliver had taken his good-byes from the living only 5 minutes after Evan had started working on him. Rosier felt robbed of his victory of sorts. Oliver, despite missing one eyeball, an ear, his nose and an arm and a leg, was still in good shape and could have continued for much longer.

'The lack of entrails must have gotten to him,' said Evan looking at Oliver's corpse.

'I do apologise for that my friend,' said Lord Voldemort, a mockery of an apology painted on his face.

'His disrespect had to be dealt with, my lord,' said Evan, casting one last melancholic look at the scene and pocketing his wand. The other two looked at Lord Voldemort, awaiting instructions for the next step. Picking up his cue, Lord Voldemort looked around him, disgusted at the prevalence of muggle decorations in the living room.

'We are not finished yet,' said Lord Voldemort. 'No evidence of what has happened tonight can be left. Let us leave the house.'

Outside the house, the four wizards aligned themselves as an execution squad. Lord Voldemort took action, chanting 'Inferno'. A dawn of understanding on their faces, the three followers used the same spell, flames erupting from the tip of the wand, in the direction of the house.

The wood caught fire first, flames spreading upwards on the façade. Soon, the cracking of glass could be heard and the flames travelled inside. A moment of quiet foreshadowed the massive explosion as the flames hit the gas pipes, the muggle appliance disintegrating the house completely.

Abraxas sat at his desk in his lavishly appointed office in Malfoy Manor, Wiltishire. Unlike the family library, which by unspoken Malfoy Law remained unchanged throughout the ages, the office was remodelled according to the occupant's desires and tastes. Abraxas' reflected his personality. Dark wood panelling, imported from the far reaches of Africa, decorated with paintings of places he had visited during his youth, as well as a magical portrait of his father, a wizard Abraxas had respected greatly. The centrepiece of the room was a massive desk, with a dragon motif, a gift from his friend in Romania, encrusted with fire gems. Checking the letter a second time, to ensure it conveyed exactly what he had meant, a habit he had picked up in his youth in the Commons, he called out for Dobby.

'Take this letter to the owl!' snapped Abraxas, already getting up from his desk to go to the House of Lords.

'Yes Master,' replied Dobby, taking the outstretched letter and disappearing from the room.

Dobby approached the haughty eagle owl carefully, for she treated him no better than the Masters did.

'Athena,' started Dobby, trying to inject some authority in his voice, 'Master says to take this letter to young Master Lucius.' The owl hooted indignantly, staring at Dobby as though he was part of the food chain. The elf trembled slightly, but summoning up his courage approached to tie the letter to her leg. After a staring contest, when Dobby was considering delivering the letter himself rather than face the owl, Athena stretched out a leg, then unfurling her wings left through the open window of the Owlery Tower. Sighing in relief, Dobby decided to go back to his tasks, for he had many.

Abraxas hoped Lucius would not be late. It denoted poor character and upbringing, attributes that a young pureblood must not be associated with. Cygnus had been detained at the Ministry and had left him a short note saying he will be there later on. As he made his way into the Three Broomsticks, responding to greetings from the local's usual customers, he was led into a back parlour, one which accorded sufficient privacy according to the young barmaid, a Rosmerta if he remembered correctly. Ordering a drink, he began reading the Prophet to pass the time. Thankfully, after finishing the first idiotic article, the door clinked, interrupting his disgust at the press. Looking up he saw Lucius holding the door for Bella to pass, then allowing Narcissa in and closing the door himself. After a greeting to Rosmerta, who eyed him suggestively, he was pointed towards Abraxas and the three began to make their way. It seemed as if they arrived just in time, for hordes of students clogged the bar, occupying all available space.

'Good day father,' said Lucius, holding the seat for Narcissa, while Abraxas rose to greet the arrivals.

'Good day Lucius,' replied Abraxas, leaning down to kiss Bellatrix and Narcissa's hands. 'Ladies, it is a pleasure to see you again. I hope your schooling is going well.'

'Very well, Lord Malfoy,' replied Narcissa, with Bella echoing her sister's words.

'Your father was detained at the Ministry,' said Abraxas, signalling the waitress ', but he promised to join us as quickly as he finishes.' The two sisters nodded, but Abraxas' attention was drawn on the duality. 'Andromeda could not make it?' said Abraxas, making a show of looking around. The reactions were worth noticing. While Narcissa lowered her eyes in embarrassment, Bella's chin went up defiantly, as her features contorted into a snarl.

'Bella dear,' said Lucius upon noticing her expression 'that is most unbecoming.'

'We're sorry, Lord Malfoy,' explained Narcissa. 'Our sister was detained and could not make it.' Abraxas frowned, but let the subject pass. These were Cygnus' daughters, and as such it was not his place to comment on the matter.

'None the matter, ladies,' commented Abraxas 'I merely noticed she was absent. Shall we have lunch?'

Etiquette demanded that any business they might have had to wait until the meal was finished. Eventually, Cygnus' arrival timed in perfectly as he kissed his daughters, shook Lucius' hand and greeted Abraxas and sat down.

'Where is Andromeda?' asked Cygnus, repeating Abraxas' earlier motion.

'She couldn't make it father,' replied Narcissa, eager to avoid conflict.

'None the matter,' said Cygnus, getting angry, 'I will go up to the school later on, and have a word with her.'

As lunch was finished, the younger wizards and witches present turned towards their respective parents. Although none would express curiosity as a muggle will, their interest was piqued. Abraxas and Cygnus were aware and were discussing inconsequential things to pass the time. Bellatrix's temper was the first to crack, as was to be expected.

'Father,' started Bella, raising her voice ever so slightly, 'I have no desire to be impudent, but I do believe you had something you wanted to tell us.'

'You never could hold your calm, could you Bella,' replied Cygnus, sighing. 'You must always have patience dear. Remember this advice and think matters through instead of jumping head forward.'

'I will father,' replied Bella, a tad of annoyance creeping into her tone.

'Children, the reason Cygnus and I have called you here today,' started Abraxas, looking straight at Lucius, 'is related to a Dark Lord rising.'

'A Dark Lord,' said Bella, her eyes gleaming at the perspective. 'How, I thought the Ministry held absolute control.' Cygnus shared a dreary look with Abraxas at Bellatrix's enthusiasm. Although Lucius had remained silent, his muscles tensed and he looked ready for action. Narcissa merely listened, such concerns not troubling her mind.

'Bellatrix,' started Cygnus, his tone more severe than the usual, 'first, the Ministry does not hold the reins of this country, the House of Lords does. Second, a Dark Lord is not an issue to be glad about.'

'What is his objective, father?' asked Lucius, cutting straight to matters that interested him.

'The Dark Lord Voldemort, as he has styled himself,' said Cygnus, turning his tone to a whisper, despite the privacy charms on the back room, 'preaches the complete annihilation of mudbloods, muggles and their sort.'

'I do not see a problem with that,' said Bella. 'If anything, we should support him in his cause.' Cygnus looked ready to murder something, a small creature preferably, but Abraxas interjected before he had a chance to voice his disapproval.

'Bellatrix, Lucius, Narcissa, do you know why we would not support him, despite his beliefs mirroring our own?' Not wanting to appear foolish, Lucius held his tongue, while Narcissa's eyes turned distant, analyzing matters through. Bella held no such compulsion.

'He follows our goals, he wants what we want, _he_ has the means to achieve it. No I see no reason why we should not support a Dark Lord.'

'The reason, _Bellatrix_, is that a Dark Lord,' interjected Cygnus 'does not follow his preached beliefs. He uses them as motivation for his followers, whom he needs as steps towards his ascension to power.'

'A more practical approach is that instability is the festering ground for revolution,' explained Abraxas, his voice calm and steady. 'And revolution has adverse effects for those in power, by breaching the status quo. Think about a day when the names Malfoy and Black mean nothing and you can see the danger of instability.'

'The reasons are many,' said Cygnus, adopting the tone he used in the House 'but the conclusion is one. You are not to join any foolish crusade. More so, if you are contacted by the Dark Lord, you must tell us immediately.'

'That is valid for you as well Lucius,' said Abraxas, looking towards his son. 'We must not risk our families. If we are gone, our world would be one step closer to Dumbledore's ideals.' He spoke the name with fury, allowing the distaste he held for the aged wizard to worm its way into his tone.

'Lucius, ladies, it has been a pleasure,' started Abraxas, rising from his chair 'but I am afraid I must go now. Ask Rosmerta to send the cheque to my office. Cygnus, I shall see you in session.'

'I have certain affairs to take care of, but I will come to Hogwarts at around dinner time to speak with Andromeda. Please let her know I am coming. She has a lot to explain about her recent behaviour,' said Cygnus, getting up with a flourish of his cloak and stepping out, a quick nod to Lucius and the girls.

Abraxas paused for a second. Although a fully grown wizard, coined the Prime Triumvir by the press, due to his prevalence in the Malfoy-Black-Lestrange alliance, and an unyielding foe, capable of anything to preserve and expand the British Magical Society, he still had his odd quirks as any person. One as such, which had earned him much teasing from his wife in the past, in private only, was his sentimentalism. Hogsmeade had been the place of his youth. Granted it had been a while ago, but the Wizarding society was a conservative one. Change did not come often and although he could spot the odd new store here and there things were just as they had stood for centuries. Sparing a glance at the imposing castle on the hill he Disapparated.

Cygnus did not share the same sentimentalism for places-leastways, not in his current mood. Upset at the way Bella's eyes lit up at the mention of the Dark Lord, annoyed at Andromeda's impudence, angered at having to Scourgify the faeces of someone's dog, utterly abhorred at the thought of one of her daughters desiring a pet, glad that it was not in their nature, he shook his head at his own thoughts and climbed into the carriage. The livered servant closed the door behind him, revealing the Black family crest, the words 'Toujours pur' reminding the passer-by of the importance of its passenger.

'To the castle,' ordered Cygnus, relaxing into the velvet interior of the carriage.

The driver whipped the black horses, loosening the reins and the carriage began its short journey to Hogwarts, people moving to get out of the way. They had gone out of fashion lately, since Apparition could be used nearly anywhere on the British Isles, the Floo network providing for children that were unable to Apparate, but they were still used as a manner of statement. No self respecting witch or wizard would Apparate to the Ministry Ball. For Cygnus it was also a matter of convenience, allowing him to indulge in the odd glass of Wine without having to restrict the amount he had to drink.

Nonetheless, the short distance between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, as well as the unusual stamina and speed of the magical breed of horses he had obtained from Arabia led to a rather short journey. Soon he was striding through the large double doors, making his way past the chattering students filling the Entrance Hall.

Spotting the first reason for his visit to the castle, Cygnus made his way towards the arch that led to the dungeons. A large man, akin to a walrus, with an appearance that hid his importance in the connected Magical world, who went by the name of Horace Slughorn awaited him there.

'Cyngus,' said Slughorn, extending an arm, 'what an unexpected pleasure. What brings you to dreary old Hogwarts?'

'Horace,' said Cyngus, accepting the handshake with obvious warmth and friendship. 'I needed to speak with my daughters. And of course, since I am here I could not pass by the opportunity to see you.'

'Well in that case, I have a bottle of wine sent by Lord Delacour that was awaiting a special occasion up in my room,' laughed Horace, inviting Cygnus in his chambers.

The two descended the steps towards the Slytherin dungeons, the lighting growing dimmer as they reached deeper into the belly of the castle. A large statue of two gargantuan serpents strangling a lion, the symbolism evident even to the simplest Hupplepuff, barred the entrance to the heart of House Slytherin on earth. Horace cleared his throat, looked around for possible eavesdroppers and whispered "Cabernet Sauvignon".

'Still choosing your password from wine names, Horace?' laughed Cygnus, shaking his head as he followed the Head of Slytherin into his chambers. Horace merely raised his shoulders, stretching out his hand towards two large armchairs near an inviting fireplace.

Although expected, given his friend's taste for creature comforts, the room's furnishings would have fitted in any of the Lord's manors. Large, massive furniture, made from dark, exotic wood, all of them decorated in a Serpent motif, with green being the preferred colour for everything from pillows to drapes. This far underground there were no real windows, but the illusion the tall stained glass windows gave was close to reality. Considering the late time of the year, and the cold weather that plagued Scotland, house-elves had lit a fire, basking the room in yellow-reddish hues that contrasted pleasantly with the emerald colours.

'Now, old friend, did I tell you about what Lord Delacour has discovered in Africa?...' started Horace, pouring the French wine into two glasses.

Knowing that Horace took it as his solemn duty to keep everyone of his friends informed to the comings and goings of his corner of the world, Cyngus made himself comfortable, listening to the customary report. After all, throughout the scattered gossip, there was bound to be something of importance.

Meanwhile, back in Hogsmeade, the cheery group of three had broken off. Bella had muttered something about meeting Rodolphus back at Hogwarts, since the elder of the Lestrange brothers had gotten himself a detention cursing a Hupplepuff who had got into a fight with his younger brother, leaving Lucius and Narcissa alone in the village. As she made her way up to Hogwarts, Bella smiled to herself. Not one of the two had commented or offered to come up with her when she said she was leaving. Lucius seemed to have taken an interest in her little sister. Anyone else would have had their life drawn to a sorry close, but Lucius was her dear friend, and one of the few that Bella would not object her sister spending time alone with. That was not to say that if Lucius hurt her, it would come to wands. That situation seemed highly unlikely though.

Lucius and Narcissa chose to walk down the main street of Hogsmeade, whispering softly to one another, but then turned right past a jewellery shop and got lost in the small, twisting alleys that led to the train station.

Bella's mind was drifting off, fantasising about the Christmas vacation, wishing time would speed up and the graduation ceremony would come already, while her steps took her towards the unused classroom in the dungeon that Rodolphus and she used for their extracurricular activities. The abandoned classroom had the advantage of having several hospital beds strewn about it, since the time it was used to teach the Healing Arts , and sufficient privacy charms and curtains to hide them from unwanted eyes. Pulling out a clock from within her robes, she realized that she had come early, Rodolphus having another fifteen minutes of detention.

Preferring to wait for him in the bed rather than stand looking idiotic outside, she entered the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Her hearing having never been her strong sense, as well as her attention distracted at the moment, she prepared to take off her outer robe, undoing the clasps, when movement in the bed next to the far corner caught her eye. Ceasing her actions immediately, she drew her wand from within the folds of her robe.

'Who goes there?' said Bella, shaking with fury at the thought of someone violating her space. No teacher wandered here, so it must have been a student. Two pairs of legs could be seen sticking out from under the white sheets, with the clothes thrown on the floor seeming strangely familiar to Bella. The two did not seem to want to reveal themselves anytime soon, but Bella was not noted for her patience.

'_Accio bedsheet!'_ Bella chanted, the white sheet flying towards her outstretched left hand. Dropping it on the floor, she turned her eyes towards the occupants of the bed, trying desperately to hide themselves. Bellatrix' manner turned ice cold, the temperature in the room seeming to drop several degrees, and her voice came out filled with anger.

'Andromeda, would you mind explaining what you are doing in bed with this creature?...'

_To be continued…_


	5. Magical Justice

**A/N: **Usual disclaimer applies

This chapter brings the end of the character arc for the children. The next one will return to the Pureblood society proper. Rest assured, everything will tie in toghether.

I apologise for taking so long, but I have been lacking inspiration.

* * *

'_Andromeda, would you mind explaining what you are doing in bed with this creature?...'_

On a regular day Bellatrix could be said to be an angry witch. When she didn't get her way, or when she was forced to spend time in the company of lesser wizards she could be said to be murderously aggressive. Seeing her sister in bed with _muggle_Ted Tonks made her want to slaughter an entire Muggle neighbourhood, said muggle's family included. Her voice, however, came out calm and aloof, similar to Narcissa's when she spoke about fashion. That was when Bella was most dangerous.

'I am still waiting for an explanation, Andromeda,' Bella said, her hand moving distinctively towards her wand. Ted Tonks had turned red as a tomato, using the bedcover to hide his assets, while Andromeda shamelessly revealed hers to the world.

'I don't need to explain myself to you, Bellatrix,' said Andromeda, imitating her sister's haughty manner. 'Whom I see and what I do with him is none of your business.'

'You don't need to explain, yourself?' said Bellatrix, clearly enunciating each word with painful accuracy. 'I find you copulating with a filthy creature, and you dare give me this attitude!' Her hands had begun to shake slightly, her right especially twitching on her wand.

'Bellatrix, Andromeda and I…' started Ted, attempting to calm down matters in good fashion, before being interrupted by the pureblood witch.

'You dare address me Muggle, _Silencio!_'' the grey beam of light hit Tonks, whose mouth moved dumbly, unable to comprehend why sounds would not come out.

'Bellatrix, you can't curse him!' said Andromeda, jumping from bed, trying to find her wand. Bella proceeded to ignore her completely, Ted Tonks having her full attention, regrettably.

'Your family has crawled out of the cesspit you lived in and rubbed shoulders with magical beings and you believe you can address me,' raged Bella, taking small steps towards Ted Tonks, who was trying to put as much distance between him and the angry older sister. ', the noblest of wizards, a Black? I will teach you proper manners.' Her wand went up in a dramatic pose, while the words '_Cru-' _ began forming on her lips, a dangerous red light accumulating on her wand tip. She had stopped thinking for a moment, the insanity some worried about surfacing at the same time as her anger. She did not care about using an Unforgivable right under Dumbledore's stuffy eyebrows, or the consequences of such actions. Nothing could have stopped her from teaching the muggle in front of her his proper place in this world, except one thing. In the confusion, Andromeda, who had managed to locate her displaced wand, stepped between her sister and her boyfriend, striking a duelling pose.

If the situation was not as serious, the scene would have intrigued an outsider. Still dressed in resplendent black robes with silver lining that she had worn while meeting her father, Bellatrix, with an Unforgivable curse waiting to be unleashed on her wand, being confronted by her sister, as naked as the day Jupiter breathed magic on her body, the generations of careful breeding showing on her delicate, blooming curves, her brown hair sticking to her face with sweat from her previous activities, but her wand pointed towards her sister.

Bellatrix and Andromeda did not get along, but that did not mean she would cast the Cruciatus Curse on her sister.

'Step aside, Andromeda, you have been merely confounded by this filthy muggle,' Bellatrix said, annoyed at having to wait to punish the muggle for touching one of their own.

'He is not a muggle, he is Muggleborn!' shouted Andromeda, at loss for anything else to say.

'Fine, a Mudblood, if you wish to get caught up on the technicality of names,' said Bellatrix, 'now move aside.'

'I will not,' said Andromeda, her resolve steeling, 'if you want to curse him, you will have to go through me.'

For several seconds it looked as if Bellatrix would indeed curse her own sister. In a rare act of kindness, one she would probably end up regretting, she put her wand down, letting the curse die out. The atmosphere in the room relaxed, although Andromeda still stayed between her sister and her boyfriend. Ted Tonks, in the meantime had managed to get some clothes on and stand up, at a loss for what to say. Bella held no such issues, however.

'Andromeda, you are not to speak, see or touch him ever again,' said Bellatrix, staring down at her sister. 'If I hear otherwise I am going to tell father and he will arrange matters in his own way,' then turning towards Ted Tonks, who had a dumb smile on his face, 'as for you mudblood, if you ever go near my sister again, I will personally maim you, until not even your mother could look at you in a kind way ever again. Do you understand me, or is your simple mind incapable of such complex operations?'

Bellatrix turned to leave, disgusted at how events had turned out, even as Andromeda started crying in the background, and she could feel the creature approach her, she continued walking, completely forgetting the reason she came here in the first place. Rodolphus, however, whistling happily at having finished detention and looking forward to his activities with Bella, did not notice the door opening, knocking straight into his girlfriend.

'Ah Bella, sorry I was late. McGonagall held me up later,' said Rodolphus, moving to embrace her, only to be scoffed of, as Bella disentangled herself from his arms.

'I'm sorry, it was not my fault,' Rodolphus said, not realizing that silence was the best option in the situation. 'Why are you leaving the room, I thought we were going to…'

'Not now, Rodolphus, I am not in the mood anymore,' said Bella, refusing to elaborate. Having dealt with enough arguments for the moment, she prepared to make her way towards the dungeons. Rodolphus would have none of that. Completely at a loss for what was causing Bella to act that way, convinced it was not his fault, confident in his ability to make it better, he placed a hand on her elbow, trying to stop her from leaving. Bella immediately flashed around, wand drawn, pointed straight at his forehead.

'Rodolphus, I have said it once already, I am not in the mood. If you care about your arm, you will let go of me immediately.'

'Merlin's sake, I was only trying to understand what was wrong with you,' Rodolphus said, letting go of her and putting his hands up in mock surrender. Seeing that the action did not bring even the semblance of a smile to her face he began to be irritated. He had already dealt with McGonagall in detention on a Saturday; he was not in a mood to deal with whatever annoyed Bella now.

'Fine, I am going to go to see Lucius,' spat Rodolphus, 'come see me when you have calmed down.' Just then, Andromeda, looking dishevelled and with puffy red eyes came out of their room, followed by a timid looking runt of a boy. Understanding dawning on his features, he turned towards Bellatrix.

'Bella, I'm sorry, I didn't know,' said Rodolphus apologetically. Bellatrix' eyes reached unprecedented size at seeing her sister and the mudblood.

'Rodolphus, you must swear,' Bella said turning towards her boyfriend, 'swear to never repeat what you saw to another soul.'

'Bella, relax, our families are allied, why would I?' said Rodolphus, getting angry again at his honour being questioned.

'Make a wizard's oath, now!' screamed Bella, hints of her madness surfacing.

'Fine, if it calms you down,' said Rodolphus, withdrawing his wand from his robes, 'I, Rodolphus Lestrange, scion of the House Lestrange, swear to never repeat what I saw here today to another person.' Tendrils of magic shot from his wand, enveloping him, Bella, Andromeda and Ted Tonks in a purple glow. Andromeda looked about to cry at the disgust showing on Bella and Rodolphus' features, Bellatrix seemed merely subdued for the moment, while Ted Tonks looked like a five year old at his first visit to the circus.

'First time you see proper Wizarding Culture, boy?' asked Rodolphus, staring at Tonks.

'Yes, sir, I never meant to…' started Tonks, stopping at a loss for words, looking at Andromeda for support.

'It would be the last, if it were up to me,' replied Rodolphus nastily, causing the younger boy to shiver and Andromeda to get annoyed.

'Come, Ted, leave them amongst their own kind,' said Andromeda, trying to sum up whatever dignity she could find, while dragging her boyfriend towards the Great Hall.

'Remember my warning, Andromeda,' Bella's voice followed her, like a curse from a Muggle fairytale. Andromeda merely turned around and raised her middle finger at the two.

'What does that mean?' asked Rodolphus looking at Andromeda's face contorted with fury, with her middle finger pointing upwards.

'Probably more muggle trash,' replied Bella, feeling suddenly tired as adrenaline and magic left her, 'I am sorry Rodolphus, but I am not in the mood anymore, I'll see you at dinner.' Rodolphus, left alone in the dark stone corridor, muttered a "Blacks, insane the lot of them!" and shook his head, leaving to see if at least Lucius was up for a drink and sane at the same time.

Another face, one that had been cloaked in the shadows shone slightly, rubbing his hands with glee. So, the Black family was not as perfect as everyone believed. Whistling, delighted at the piece of information he had acquired, he went to write a letter to one of his "friends", detailing the gossip. Now he would finally be able to buy dress robes for the coming ball.

Bellatrix spoke the password to the Statue of Salazar that guarded the Slytherin Common room entrance, their great founder moving aside to allow her passage. Descending the steps quickly, she scoffed at a couple of first years that ran frightened to clear her path and went down to the fifth year bedrooms. Seeing Narcissa on her bed writing a letter, she headed straight for her sister, before noticing the other occupants of the room.

'I need to have a word with my sister,' announced Bellatrix, staring at Parkinson and her giggling friends. Seeing no reaction, she drew her ebony wand, using it to open the door and then point it at the three previously giggling girls. 'Must I draw a picture for you?'

'No, of course not Bellatrix,' said Parkinson, getting up, 'we were about to go down to dinner anyways.' With that she and her friends exited the bedroom, giggling once they were out of sight.

'It wouldn't hurt to be nice to my roommates once in a while, Bella dear,' chirped Narcissa happily, while she paused from writing her letter.

'They are simpering idiots,' Bella said, closing the door and making it sound proof, 'and I don't like idiots.' Narcissa looked mildly intrigued at her older sister's actions, but choose to remain quiet, smiling serenely, as though she were daydreaming.

'Why the need for secrecy?'

'Something terrible has happened,' said Bella, still nervously looking around, expecting someone to listen in.

'Oh Bella,' Narcissa said, standing up to extend an arm towards her sister, 'you got pregnant? Mother has always warned us about that. Don't worry, Alexandra knows a discreet healer at St. Mungo's. I am told the process is relatively painless.' Bella merely shook her head, not believing what she was hearing, looking as though she was purging her mind of what she has just heard.

'No, Narcissa, where do you get those ideas from?' replied Bella, exasperated, 'It's Andromeda.'

'Father and she didn't argue again, did they?' asked Narcissa, for the first time loosing some of her serene happiness.

'If only it were that, I found her in bed with a filthy mudblood, Ted Tonks. We argued, I warned her to distance herself from him, but you should have seen her Cissy, she was defending him. She even drew her wand against me.'

'A mudblood?' said Narcissa, 'I wonder how she could bring herself to touch that thing. Still, don't worry; it's probably a passing fancy.' Narcissa tried to convince herself.

'You know how Andromeda can get in her defiance, Cissy, I am worried,' replied Bella, fussing with her robes.

'You're not going to tell father, are you?' asked Narcissa, tentatively.

'I don't want to, he'll get so angry at her, but I will if I have to. If she doesn't come to realize that he is beneath her.'

'Let's hope it doesn't come to that, Bella,' replied Narcissa. 'Now, let me tell you, I had such a wonderful day with Lucius…'

'I wish Andromeda could be more like you Cissy,' sighed Bella, 'Lucius is the perfect match for a Black.' Narcissa nodded dreamily, her mind still dealing with the day, not at all attentive to what Bellatrix was complaining about.

'Excuse me, Bella, my mind wandered off, what were you saying?' Bellatrix huffed in annoyance.

'I asked you what you thought about Lord Voldemort, Cissy. I think father is wrong about him. If he is willing to help us regain our supremacy we should support him at all costs.'

'I don't know, Bella,' replied Narcissa, suddenly unsure of herself. 'I don't think I am cut out for that. I couldn't imagine going on raids and secret meetings. That is something best left to wizards.'

'I could,' replied Bella, a fanatical gleam in her eyes.

'Promise me you won't go against father's wishes, Bella,' replied Narcissa, her voice adopting a serious tone. Seeing that Bellatrix was not paying attention and her eyes held a bloodlust she had not seen in her sister, Narcissa grabbed her hands, squeezing her to attention. 'Bella!'

'What?' replied Bellatrix, snapping out of her dreams of power and glory.

'The last thing this family needs is more separation. Please promise me you won't do anything foolish.'

'I promise you Narcissa,' Bellatrix said, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. 'I must go see Rodolphus; I was quite rude to him before.'

Narcissa stared at her sister as she left the dungeon, not entirely convinced of the veracity of Bella's claims. An apocalyptic image flashed in her mind of her family torn apart, Bellatrix in prison, her and Lucius hiding from the ministry, father dead. It was at that moment that she swore she would not let anything happen to her family. It was all Narcissa cared about, the rest of the world could burn in flames, but the Blacks would make it on top yet again.

Meanwhile, in the Owlery at Hogwarts, a shady figure was humming happily to himself. Disgusted at having to use a school owl, like some common mudblood, while delighted at the payment that would surely come from this business venture, he tied the parchment roll to a small brown owl, threatening eternal damnation if she did not deliver it instantly and promptly.

The owl stared at him, in defiance, then at the last possible moment before getting cursed, took flight, her magically enhanced wings beating powerfully, reaching Southern England in a mere half an hour.

Igor Karkaroff sat down in a large armchair, close to the fire, enjoying some of life's well deserved luxury. An enchanted orchestra played his favourite opera, "The Warlock of Atlantis", his favourite glass of cognac, carefully brewed by wizards in the south of France. Say what you will about the French Magical Kingdom, but French wizards could brew proper alcohol. His moment of sublime relaxation was interrupted by the rude arrival of a small brown owl that proceeded to land and scratch the carved wood at the window. Igor made to draw his wand and teach the small avian a lesson in manners, but froze when he recognized the Hogwarts brand on the owl's forehead. Quickly abandoning his glass, he nearly ran towards the owl. The Dark Lord had always placed extreme importance on news from Hogwarts and his informant had been quiet as of late, much to his lord's displeasure. This would certainly earn him favour, if the news was good. Reading the short, concise note, a smile made its way on his figure. The news was certainly worthy of disturbing his master.

Karkaroff made his way towards his master's study, pausing to knock respectfully at the tall double doors, awaiting the serpentine "enter", before making his way into the place few people ever saw. Contrary to popular belief, the Dark Lord despised cold, dark places. They reminded him too much of his time spent in that thrice damned Muggle orphanage. His study was done in warm colours, with a lighter shade of wood panelling than would have been appropriate in a Pureblood office, the emerald carpet being the only tribute to the legacy he was heir of. Sitting in a large, throne like chair, with a serpent motif, the Dark Lord looked like a monarch receiving an audience from his lieutenant. It was an image he thought about a great deal, along with his plans once he took power. Noticing the gleam in his servant's eyes, he decided the news was worthy enough to warrant disturbance, and broke the silence.

'Yes, Igor, what can I do for you?' asked Lord Voldemort, his voice adopting a friendly tone, meant to put the naturally predisposed nervous wizard at ease.

'Master, I have news of Hogwarts and the Blacks,' replied Igor, an almost giddy look on his face as he handed the letter to his master. Lord Voldemort read the offered parchment roll quickly, his brow furrowing in thought.

'This is grave news indeed. The situation must be cleared at once, and Cygnus must be warned of this development. Write back to your informant; tell him to meet us at the edge of the Forbidden Forest this evening. We need his memories,' ordered Lord Voldemort cryptically.

After Igor Karkaroff had dispatched the Hogwarts owl back on its way with a response, he had made ready for the trip to Hogwarts. Since secrecy was paramount, the Dark Lord had ordered the mask and cloak to be worn. After a quick nod from Lord Voldemort, the two Disapparated to the Forbidden Forest.

Lord Voldemort walked silent ahead of his lieutenant. Thoughts of the significance of Hogwarts wandered in his mind. Although a mere school, Hogwarts was a symbol, a place of power. The legs on which their society stood-The Ministry of Magic, The Lords and Commons Palace and Hogwarts Castle. He thought of his plans, how each and every element of society had to propel him to power. For now, however, he had to take one insignificant step in his ascension to power. A step, of which though insignificant, had his entire attention.

Suddenly, he saw a small boy, walking down from the castle, towards the edge of the forest. With a flick of his wrist, Igor Karkaroff made himself seen in the rapidly dwindling light. The boy, recognizing his paymaster, walked briskly towards him, until he finally entered the comforting darkness of the Forbidden Forest. Towards his shock, Karkaroff was not alone, being accompanied by a tall man, dressed in midnight black robes, his figure obscured by a pure white mask. Awaiting Karkaroff to speak, the boy remained silent, staring at Igor and his companion. To his great surprise, with a slight bow of his head, Igor stepped towards the side, leaving the taller man to face him alone.

'What is your name, boy?' The voice that came from the tall man had a commanding glint, making the small boy desire to spill all his secrets out.

'Traditore de Luca,' said the boy, puffing his chest outwards, Pureblood to the fifth generation.

'Italian?' asked the man. Traditore simply nodded, awaiting the next round of interrogation.

'How is it that we find an Italian Pureblood studying in dreary old Hogwarts?' inquired Lord Voldemort, twirling his wand. The sight of the yew wand made the boy even more nervous than before, if that were possible. 'Your kind generally goes to Beauxbatons.'

'My family died, sir, in the war, and I am staying with my squib great uncle,' spat the boy, resentful at his situation.

'Very well,' replied Voldemort, the faking concern he had dispelled, 'you said you have worthy information for us.'

'I have, sir, I saw the middle Miss Black arguing with the older Miss Black and Mister Lestrange concerning her relation with a muggle,' said de Luca.

'You saw that with your own eyes?' asked Voldemort, drawing closer, his hands at his side, his wand held lightly in the right one.

'Yes, sir,' replied Traditore, a bit uncertain, wishing he were dealing with Karkaroff instead of the menacing one. Without, paying any attention to the boy anymore, Lord Voldemort snapped his fingers. Igor came quickly from the shadows, and handed him two pearly small bottles. Lord Voldemort pointed his wand at de Luca's head and proceeded to draw a pearly white strand, guiding it with his wand towards one of the bottles. De Luca felt the unpleasant sensation of his brains being squeezed out through his ears as the memory was collected from his mind and stored into the Pensieve Bottle. The process was repeated a second time until the other bottle was also filled with the swirling, pearly liquid.

'You have done well, and I always reward those who serve me,' said Lord Voldemort, reaching inside his robes for a sack of galleons. Traditore made to grab the sack, but Voldemort quickly withdrew it from his reach.

'There is one more thing I need you to do for me,' said Lord Voldemort. 'You are to take one of these bottles and give it to Lord Black. I know he is here at Hogwarts. He will be leaving soon. Intercept him on his way out and give the bottle to him. Don't mention from where it comes, but tell him it is about his daughter. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir,' said de Luca, 'I will give it to him.'

'Good,' said Lord Voldemort, 'make sure you do, for Lord Voldemort always knows.' The threat left hanging in the air, Lord Voldemort handed the sack of galleons and the Pensieve Bottle to Traditore and after a flick at Igor, Disapparated.

'You have done well, boy,' said Igor, 'the Lord was pleased. Keep this up and we shall have many such fructuous meetings.' That being said, Igor Karkaroff nodded his head in goodbye and Disapparated, following his master for some well deserved sleep.

Traditore, shaking slightly after the unnerving meeting, opened the sack, counting the galleons inside, smiling at what he was about to do with it, made his way quickly towards the Entrance Hall. There the sight of the picture perfect Black family greeted him. Cygnus Black was saying goodbye to his daughters, all of them showing the timeless elegance that old money conferred upon them. Besides him, the livered carriage awaited, with the Keeper of the Grounds oaf fawning over the horses. A servant, with The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black livery embroidered on his chest waited patiently, holding the door open for Lord Black.

'Now, girls, promise me you will listen to what I said,' said Cygnus, 'especially _you_ Bellatrix.' Cygnus kissed Narcissa and Bellatrix on the cheek, looking fondly at the two of them.

'We will, daddy,' replied Narcissa, smiling serenely, 'give our regards to mother for us, please.'

'I will, darlings. Andromeda, I am disappointed at you for missing our lunch, but I am sure that Cissy and Bella can tell you what we discussed,' said Cygnus reaching for his daughter, who flinched as her father kissed her on the cheek. 'Do try to write sometimes, if it is not too much of a bother.'

Then, looking at all of them, 'Now go inside, dinner is about to start, and I don't wish to inconvenience the routine. Horace, see you at the Ministry Ball.' With that being said, Cygnus, walked down towards his carriage, before being interrupted by a small boy. His daughters, led by Horace had already retired indoors, leaving the plain desolate, except for his servant, the half-breed and this strange appearance of a boy, in hand me down Hogwarts robes.

Cygnus sighed; he was in no mood for beggars at this time of the day. Still, he reached inside his robes for a few sickles to hand over.

'My lord, a word if I may,' said the boy, respectfully.

'A word?' said Cygnus, puzzled.

'I have news of your daughters that concerns you,' replied the boy cryptically, 'I thought you should be warned.' He produced a pearly bottle, which Cygnus recognized instantly of holding a Pensieve memory.

'Why would you give this to me?' asked Cygnus, suspicious of the boy's motives.

'I serve Pureblood interests my lord, and this is a threat to them,' said the boy, pushing the bottle forward. 'Please take it my lord, you must see this.'

'Very well,' replied Cygnus, extending a gloved hand to take the Pensieve Bottle. 'What is your name, so I may reward you properly if what you brought to my attention is truly important?' Traditore de Luca smiled; this night was going twice as good as before.

'Traditore de Luca,' my lord, 'Pureblood to the fifth generation.'

'Very well, Signor de Luca,' said Cygnus, placing the bottle inside his robes, 'one of my agents will contact you if the information is worthy of attention. Now I must be going. Goodbye.'

Cygnus got into the carriage, the servant closing the door after he was seated, then moving to take his place in the driver's seat. Whipping the horses, the carriage moved briskly towards the tall gates, which opened and closed themselves after the carriage sped towards Ravensden on the road.

Shortly after, the magical horses had drawn the carriage to Ravensden, Cygnus got out of the carriage, thanking and dismissing the driver, and entered his grand residence.

'Druella, darling, where are you?' asked Cygnus, taking off his cloak and handing it over to a house elf.

'In the drawing room, darling,' came the voice of his wife. Cygnus made his way towards the drawing room, to find his wife seated on a sofa, a book in her hand.

'How was your day?' asked Cygnus, kissing his wife, and then sitting down on another sofa across from her.

Famulus, the trusty Head Elf brought the customary tea that Lord Black served when coming home, mixed in with a little cognac when he seemed particularly aggravated. Thanking the elf for the tea, Cygnus turned his attention towards his wife, who proceeded to tell him every little detail of her day, from the brunch she had with Lady Lestrange to the unhappy encounter with Lady Parkinson at the Salon on the Alley. The small talk and gossip bored Cygnus to no end, but he listened, and nodded in appropriate places. His wife had missed a confidante since the unfortunate death of Lady Malfoy three years ago. It made Druella feel better, and it cost Cygnus nothing, except for a few minutes of chatter.

Remembering the encounter with the Italian Pureblood, he excused himself as his wife went up to change for dinner, and went into his study, calling for the elf to bring him his Pensieve. Emptying the bottle into the swirling surface of the Pensieve, he stirred the surface with his wand and then entered to see a familiar Hogwarts corridor. Blushing slightly at the thought of his daughters repeating family history, his face froze when he saw who his middle daughter repeated family history with. Cursing he made his way out of the Pensieve, slamming the Library doors open, calling for his wife. Druella, worried at her usually calm husband's reaction, met him in the hallway, halfway ready for dinner, her hair loose and her robes half way fastened.

'Cygnus, what's wrong, what happened?'

'Andromeda,' started Cygnus, not knowing how to put this situation to his wife, 'is sleeping with a mudblood. And she seemed serious about him to. What have I done to deserve this?'

'That girl was always too headstrong for her own good,' said Druella, trying to calm her husband, whose hand was clenched on his wand.

'I know it is not done so much nowadays, but we need to arrange her marriage to someone,' said Cygnus.

'Who, though?' The two went through several dozen unsuitable candidates, nearly running out of options, until Druella came up with another.

'What about Evan Rosier?' asked Druella, her mind going through the suitable, available bachelors of the Wizarding World.

'That boy has no talent whatsoever. His father spoiled him rotten and he now wastes his life in shady bars,' replied Cygnus, 'he is unsuited for a Black.

'Well at least he is more suitable than a muggle!' snapped Druella at her husband, 'Why don't you come up with an idea?' Suddenly his face lightened, and a small smile crept on his features.

'Rastaban Lestrange. I know he is younger than Andromeda, but he is the perfect match. And if your suspicions about Bella and Rodolphus are true, then it will be a perfect combination.'

'Can you convince Lord Lestrange, though?' asked Druella, allowing a small glimmer of hope to creep in her heart.

'Certainly, my dear; He cannot find a better match than this one for Rastaban.' said Cygnus. 'I shall speak to him about it tomorrow at the House of Lords and announce it by the Ministry Ball. It is perfect.'

Meanwhile at Lord Voldemort's residence, Igor returned with the information he had been sent to obtain. Disgusted at having to trudge through Muggle sources for this one, he nonetheless still returned with the necessary information. His master had strange ways, that was true, but in the end they all seemed to bear fruit.

'My lord, I have the required information,' said Igor, entering the master's chambers, announced by a surly looking elf.

'Excellent Igor,' said Lord Voldemort, congratulating him, but then cutting strait to the point, 'Where do they live?'

'Newcastle my lord, not far from Monument Alley.'

'Come Igor, we have to get Bella a Christmas present. We have missed the first 17 ones, so this one has to be grand enough,' said Lord Voldemort, grabbing his cloak.

The two wizards Disapparated, arriving at the Monument Alley in Newcastle, called so due to the Monument dedicated to the Aurors who helped Dumbledore defeat Grindewald in the last war. Sneering at the idiotic statue of two heroic Aurors, standing side by side, their wands outstretched, Lord Voldemort looked into Igor's eyes, impatient enough to merely obtain the information from his mind rather than ask for it. Slightly confused at what happened, Igor nonetheless followed his master, Apparating in a Muggle apartment building, on the fifth floor, scaring a young muggle girl, who began to scream at the appearance of two strange people from thin air.

Undisturbed, Voldemort pointed his wand at the muggle girl, '_Avada Kedavra!'_ the green light sped through the air, unseen by the girl, who proceeded to drop dead. Not exactly Ministry procedure, but Lord Voldemort had never been very good at Memory charms.

'One makes do with what one can,' remarked Lord Voldemort, as he knocked on the door that bore the number 13, laughing inside of him at the irony of the matter. A middle aged woman answered the door, still dressed with an apron from her cooking activities.

'Yes, can I help you?'

'Are you Mary Tonks?' asked Lord Voldemort haughtily. 'Is your husband home?'

'Yes I am, and yes he is right here. Something happened to Teddy?'

'What do you mean woman?' asked Lord Voldemort, annoyed at being questioned by a muggle.

'Well you are,' she moved in and hushed her voice '_wizards'_', 'so it must have to do with Teddy. He is such a wonderful boy. Almost made the top 50 in his class. My husband and I never amounted to anything, but Teddy has a chance at greatness.'

Annoyed at the matter, and not willing to indulge the woman gushing how wonderful her mudblood son was, Voldemort cast a banishing charm, sending the woman sprawling until she hit the opposing wall. By now learning the queue, Igor shut the door behind them, and soundproofed the apartment, then stood to watch, awaiting a prompt from the Lord if he needed assistance. That Igor doubted, as Lord Voldemort preferred to do his own work.

Just then, the door to the living room opened, allowing a slightly balding, overweight man dressed in an undershirt that had been white once, several decades ago perhaps. Said muggle was also clutching an iron crowbar in his left hand, swinging it dangerously above his head.

'You must be Richard Tonks, then,' said Lord Voldemort, bowing his head slightly in mocking irony. Richard merely let out a war cry that would have made Godric proud and charged at the two wizards, much to Igor's amusement. Lord Voldemort chuckled then shot a flesh decaying curse at the muggle's left arm.

Roaring wildly in pain, Tonks dropped the crowbar he was previously holding, as the curse proceeded to rot the flesh on his left arm, exposing the bone briefly before it fell on the floor, the ligaments and muscle holding it together having decayed to nothingness.

'So much more effective than a Disarming spell, isn't it Igor?' said Lord Voldemort, looking at his work, 'remind me to teach it to you some day.'

'Of course my lord, you are correct,' replied Igor, staring in curiosity at the one armed muggle. By this point, Mary had risen to go join her pitiful husband on the floor, crying at the injustice of life.

'Why, why are you doing this to us?' asked Mary in between sobs.

'Because your filthy son had deigned to taint our blood. Because you do not have any place knowing about us. And because it serves my purposes. '_Crucio!'_cast Lord Voldemort, gesturing for Igor to take care of the husband. After a couple minutes of incessant screaming from the two muggles, Lord Voldemort paused, willing to exchange a few more lines with the two before ending this matter. Sadly, the lesser constitution of the two muggles meant their minds strayed from the path quicker than a wizard's. At a simple prompt, merely drool and an unfocussed gaze was the response. Sighing at his impatience in the torturing, he cast _'Avada Kedavra!'_, with Karkaroff dealing the same magical ending to Richard Tonks' life.

Igor, we must vanish all evidence of what occurred this afternoon, said Lord Voldemort, transfiguring their bodies into wood and burning it with an '_Inferno'._

The next morning as Bella was having breakfast, alone, since Rodolphus, Lucius and Narcissa were not early risers, planning for a way to make it up to her boyfriend; a large hawk owl entered the Great Hall, carrying a small parcel. The owl beat her wings three times, landing on the bench, next to Bellatrix. Staring in indignation at the uncouth owl, she noticed her name written in an elegant script on the box. Curious, as to whose owl it was, Bellatrix untied the parcel, then tried to offer a piece of bread to the owl. Offended at the demeaning treatment, the owl spread its wings and took flight. She was not going to eat plain bread like some common barn owl!

Shaking her head at the strange character of the departing owl, Bellatrix turned her attention back to the parcel. She opened it carefully, discovering a pearly white crystal bottle, a large bowl with Egyptian hieroglyphs engraved on the side and a letter. Opening the letter, she began to read it at the breakfast table, setting the bottle next to her.

'_Dear Miss Black,_

_You have undoubtedly heard of me from your father or Lord Malfoy. I am told we share the same ideals for our world, and that we are both willing to act upon those ideals to ensure the survival and eternal dominance of our glorious kind._

_It has recently come to my attention that a filthy muggle had deigned to place his unfit appendices on your sister, Andromeda. Do not blame her too harshly, since I am sure the fault lies with the muggle._

_The bottle you have received is a Pensieve bottle. I was unsure if you had a Pensieve, so I have taken the liberty to enclose one. They are precious artefacts, and one I am sure you will find most useful._

_As I was saying, since I have heard of the unfortunate situation your sister got into, I have taken it into my hands to solve the matter. Please consider it an early Christmas present. I have missed the last one, and have made an effort to make it up to you._

_I have delivered our justice upon the Muggles, and have enclosed the Pensieve memory for your viewing pleasure._

_I hope we can converse again._

_Yours truly,_

_Lord Voldemort__'_

Bellatrix could not believe what her eyes were seeing, threw everything inside the box that it came and made her way to her dormitory. Once inside, she made sure she was alone and poured the pearly silvery liquid into the Pensieve, swirling it with her wand and plunging herself into the memory.

'_Are you Mary Tonks?...'_

XIV


	6. Night of the Long Fangs

**A/N: credit goes to Shezza for one of the spells used. Now, on another matter, it will be nice if I get some reviews. Don't get me wrong, I will continue to write and put chapters up regardless of the number of reviews. I will never hold the story hostage to its reviewers. Still, it would be nice to have more than 5 reviews for 6 chapters. Remember, it is good for the soul to review. Now, the sixth chapter is up for your reading pleasure.**

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'Move you dogs, get in formation,' screamed one of Greyback's lieutenants, baring his fangs at the younger werewolves as they were herded towards the main chamber of the cave complex that was Greyback's domain. Some bared their fangs back, but most simply complied, not wishing to feel the silver whip tonight. The night was deceivingly peaceful, although the animals of the forest had hid in their lairs, their instincts warning them.

Fenrir Greyback mused on their situation as he saw his pack gather-ragged all of them, dressed in filthy robes that they made themselves. All of that was about to change, as Greyback would take the steps required to change their destiny. Seeing his lieutenants having herded all the strike team members into position, Greyback climbed a stone boulder, which had been roughly hewn into a speaker dais, ready to address his followers.

'Brothers in arms, tonight we strike back at those who have oppressed us for so long. We shall show them no mercy, we shall let them feel our power. We are a force in this world and those pitiful wizards cannot hope to stop us. Follow your Beta's orders and we will all make it out alive and victorious.' He had to pause at this point as screams and howls covered his voice. The werewolves had been stirred. 'You know what you have to do,' said Fenrir, looking with pride at his wolves. 'Leave none alive.'

A howl could be heard from the outside, which drove the werewolves to frenzy. Shouting in half human-half wolfish tongues they ran out towards the cave exit, feeling the bloodlust and desire to maim and kill. Greyback himself was joined by his assigned guards, the strongest of his pack and Disapparated towards his target. He had chosen the hardest one of them for himself, as was proper for a leader.

Edgar Bones sighed in content as he Apparated towards his home. Looking with pride at the tall gates decorated with matching badgers, he opened them with a flick of his wand and made his way across the small courtyard to the small home he shared with his wife. The house had been in the Bones family for three hundred years, and although it was not as sumptuous as some of the older pureblood manors, it was his home.

With the Commons' elections coming up in three months it had been a hectic day. His campaign manager had ensured him that he was the only one who could win Essex. There were very few purebloods that lived in the area, and it had been a Novus Veneficus constituency for the past 50 years. The Nobilitas candidate this year was a no name, fresh out of school. According to the agreement between the Aliquanta and his own party, there was no candidate for Essex from the Aliquanta.

Despite all the assurances he had received that he had practically won the election already, Edgar Bones was not a man to rest on his laurels. He still made his rounds, visiting his electors, finding out about their problems, trying his best to push legislation that would stave off the effects of the financial collapse of the Republic. His people did not live as well as the Witches and Wizards of the richer Dominions such as Wiltshire and Ravensden, but they were better off than others.

Clearing his mind of the problems of the day, and putting a smile on his face to greet his young wife, Edgar entered his house, taking off his cloak and handing it to their trusty family elf.

'Where is the Mistress?'

'She has gone out to buy a birthday present for young Mistress Amelia.' Edgar smiled. His much younger sister, who was currently in her Sixth year at Hogwarts, had been his charge since their parents had died. Old Harold Bones had been an elderly wizard and he and his wife had died of dragon pox when Amelia was just starting Hogwarts. Edgar was then the Assistant to the Commons Candidate, with a meagre salary of three hundred galleons, but he still took in his younger sister and helped her through school. They led a hard life the first few years, but when the Member of the Commons had been promoted to work in the Ministry he had been assigned to lead their Dominion. Since then, things had gone better, and with little Amelia growing up Edgar had taken a wife. He had no children of his own, and he doted on his sister. His wife adored her as well. In short, the Bones were a happy family.

Fenrir had snuck onto the property, dispatching his escort to help the other teams. His superior sense of smell had alerted him when Edgar had Apparated, then he proceeded to watch as he entered his house. He could have attacked him right then, but the Lord's orders were clear. They were to be attacked in Werewolf form, as the attack was to be a mark of Werewolf power. As such, Fenrir sat down on a damp patch of grass, concealed by a bush, waiting for the full moon to rise, rubbing his hands gleefully.

The time was near, he could feel it. The sensation of your ribcage being ripped to shreds, your muscles seeming to stretch beyond breaking point. The teeth elongating, his jaw deforming. Oh the power, the sensation of utter freedom. What could mere humans understand? Suddenly a cloud moved, carried by a slight breeze and revealed the pearly perfection the werewolves worshipped. Suddenly, the pain he felt increased a tenth fold, his transformation sped up by their goddess. Where once stood a shabby looking wizard, now stood a tall werewolf, his grey fur looking healthier than his human skin would ever look. Raising his snout towards the Goddess he howled his respect and adoration, then his simple mind remembered the prompt he had drilled into his head before. 'Kill Bones! Kill Bones! Kill Bones!' he had repeated just before the transformation, concentrating on the young wizard's figure, so the wolf would understand.

Suddenly the gate opened to allow a bland looking young woman in, carrying a large wrapped present. The werewolf stopped in his tracks, trying to remember if Edgar Bones was in the category of family included. His bloodlust taking over his rational mind he roared, dropping on four legs and rushing towards the young witch.

Edgar Bones heard the gate open, and was preparing to go open the door and help his wife with her shopping, when he heard said wife scream. Paralyzed with fear, he grabbed his wand and rushed towards the front yard. The scene that greeted him seemed ripped out of hell. His beloved wife was attacked by a large, monstrous looking werewolf. Edgar screamed as the animal used his large fangs to rip her throat, seeing the life leave her coffee brown orbs.

Although a politician, Edgar had been trained by Dumbledore himself. Regaining his wits, desiring only revenge he rushed forward.

'_Stupefy!'_ The spell seemed to gain the werewolf's attention, as the beast turned its bloody snout from devouring his wife towards him. The stunner collided with the animal, which merely shook its head, starting to run towards Edgar.

'_Inferno!'_ Fire erupted from his wand, a large fireball enveloping the werewolf. The smell of burnt hair permeated through the air, but once Edgar let the spell go, he saw that the fur was merely singed, and the animal was now running at all speed towards him, enraged.

'_Zenkirolo!'_ Using the most powerful offensive curse he knew, Edgar rotated his wand, guiding the silver shards that materialized towards the werewolf. That seemed to have some effect as the beast yelped in pain as the holy metal broke through his thick hide, embedding itself into its flesh.

However, Edgar was no fighter and the Werewolf had reached his position. The spell had been used too late as the beast ripped off the arm that was used to hurt him. Edgar tried to fight back, but the strength of a human was a trifle compared to the unnatural one of a werewolf. His last thoughts went towards his little sister who would be left in the care of his elder brother. Content to join his wife in the Halls of Olympus, Edgar closed his eyes as the animal ripped his throat, extinguishing the life of Edgar Bones, Commons Representative for Essex.

Howling in feral joy, Greyback proceeded to devour flesh from the two Bones, then made his way happily towards the caves that were his lair, running under the night sky. The night had been good for the pack, and he awaited the reports of his wolves.

The Bones family elf had heard the noise outside, but was too terrified to come out. Now that the noise had quieted down, he stuck his head, peering outside. Upon seeing the deformed cadavers of his Master and Mistress, the elf began to cry. He was a bad elf, not capable of serving his Master. He should have overcome his fear and defended his Master. Crying, he tried his best to arrange their remains into something resembling a Wizard, putting their wands into their hands, folded across their chests, then went inside the house. Someone needed to be announced of the attack and young Amelia needed to be taken care of.

The same scene repeated across many households across Magical Britain. Crying families, mutilated half eaten corpses, grim faced Aurors and annoying reporters taking pictures despite warnings to respect the grieving families.

'These reporters have no decency,' spat Rufus Scrimgeour, talking with his Auror partner.

'Are you surprised?' asked his partner, 'Who could have done such a thing?'

'Isn't it clear, Alastor, it was a Werewolf attack?' replied Scrimgeour, looking at the corpse of the Bones couple.

'A werewolf attack?' said Alastor Moody, 'Three hundred dead in a Werewolf attack in one night. I don't believe it, there is something larger going on here.'

'Perhaps, but our hands are tied. We must await orders from the Minister,' replied Rufus, before signalling the Aurors to break the crowd of reporters.

The Aurors, dressed in their red robes, proceeded to draw their wands and move towards the reporters. Understanding that their time on the Bones property was limited, the reporters snapped a few more photographs and Disapparated before the first Auror could launch a banishing charm.

Abraxas Malfoy was furious at the attack. The filthy half breeds had struck at proper wizards and witches. Deciding the matter to be a serious emergency, he had called his friend Cygnus and Lord Lestrange for a private meeting in his study at Wiltshire. The House of Lords Triumvirate, as they were dubbed by the press controlled the House of Lords. Their private talks had the power to move mountains, but for now their hands were tied. Dobby had allowed Lord Lestrange and Lord Black into the study, taking their cloaks and returning with tea and biscuits. Thankfully for his life, he had not dropped anything or made any inappropriate remarks. Otherwise, his master's fury would have proved deadly for the elf.

'This is terrible,' said Lord Lestrange, looking at the report produced by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, 'especially so close to election season.'

'Election season, Dimitry?' snapped Abraxas 'almost two hundred witches and wizards dead and you speak of election season!'

'Friends, this is not a time to argue amongst ourselves,' said Cygnus, attempting to diffuse the situation. 'We need to establish a strategy; we need to strike back at the Werewolves.'

'What do you propose?' asked Abraxas 'that we gather our house guards and go kill every Werewolf we see?'

'That does not sound like a bad idea, actually,' said Dimitry 'it would show the public that we are doing something.'

'This was an organised action, mark my words,' said Abraxas, 'this is deeper than a mere Werewolf attack.'

'What is strange is that the half-breeds had never acted so organised before,' mused Cygnus, looking over the reports of the dead. 'There must be some pattern for the attack.'

'There is no pattern, friends,' said Dimitry, 'since when had the beasts thought like Wizards?'

'Perhaps there is a shadow movement that coordinates them,' added Cygnus, 'the beasts could not have even discovered the addresses of all the dead.'

'What is the Minister going to do about this?' asked Abraxas 'Have any of you spoken to her since the attack?'

'Milicent Bagnold is incapable of doing anything,' replied Dimitry, 'my sources in the Ministry tell me she practically begged Bartemius Crouch to take care of the matter.'

'All right then, what is he going to do about this?' drawled Abraxas. 'At least make an arrest?'

'He said he is thinking about it,' said Cygnus, 'he has recalled all the Aurors. He even dismantled the peace keeping mission in Bulgaria. All the Ministry's forces are gathering.'

'His hands are tied, though,' replied Dimitry, 'several prominent Ministry members have requested Auror escorts for their families and themselves.'

'And Milicent has approved them,' replied Cygnus, 'she needs their support now more than ever.'

'She needs our support now more than ever,' said Abraxas, finally putting down the reports, 'if she is not capable of action she will be impeached.'

'Let us not be rash,' said Cygnus, 'I have spoken to a friend of mine who is good at finding information. He is the one who warned us about Lord Voldemort. He will get to the bottom of this, I am sure.'

'Cygnus is right Abraxas,' said Dimitry, 'if we withdraw our support from the Ministry, the population will be out for her blood. It could propel Lord Potter into the position.'

'The population does not decide who is Minister,' said Abraxas, 'the House of Lords decides that.'

'Do not underestimate the plebs, Abraxas,' said Cygnus, 'if they start calling out for change it could have repercussions afterwards. Plus some members of the Nobilitas themselves might wish to get more standing by siding with the popular movement.'

'This is a time for unity, not discord,' said Dimitry, 'we should meet with the Minister, Lord Potter and Lord Macmillan to establish a strategy.'

'I can understand the Minister and Lord Macmillan, since we need the Aliquanta support, but Lord Potter?' asked Cygnus, looking as if he'd rather eat a dead thestral than be in the same room as Richard Potter.

'The man is a lunatic,' added Abraxas, 'he would have all our fortunes confiscated and distributed to mudbloods.'

'He is not that revolutionary, no matter how hard you try to paint him so,' said Dimitry, trying to defend his idea. 'What about Dumbledore, the man must have some idea about what happened.'

'That I refuse,' drawled Abraxas, 'Dumbledore is part of the reason we have to fight so hard to preserve our way of life. I will never consider an alliance with Dumbledore even if it brings the ruin of my House.'

'Very well, then, I shall send a message to the Minister, Lord Macmillan and Lord Potter, to set up a meeting before the House sits for session tomorrow,' said Cynus. 'Now I must go, Druella is quite beside herself since the attacks, and I promised to be home for lunch.'

'I should go as well, I have business to attend to,' said Lord Lestrange, standing up, 'See you gentlemen tomorrow.'

Abraxas was left alone in his sumptuous study, a situation he found himself in a great many times since Lucius had moved to the townhouse. His solitude was interrupted by Dobby the house elf.

'Will the master be needing anything else?' inquired the elf, fumbling with his tea cosy.

'No, Dobby, you may leave,' said Abraxas, before changing his mind, 'Wait, firecall Domitian in Romania, I have business with him. And tell the driver to ready my carriage and harness the Pegasi.'

Dobby proceeded to place the international floo call, speaking with the assistant of Domitian, telling him his master required to speak with his master. Shortly, the aquiline face of Abraxas' friend appeared in the dancing flames.

'Abraxas, mais ca est une bonne surprise,' said Domitian, 'ca va?'

'Oui, ca va, et toi?' replied Abraxas, adopting the same speech his friend liked to use on formal occasions. 'It has occurred to me that we have not seen each other in quite some time. Are you in the mood for a visit?'

'From you, mon ami, anytime,' replied Domitian, 'Will you be coming over for a visit?'

'Certainly, I have the carriage ready,' said Abraxas.

'Excellent, I shall tell the servants to break out a cask of my finest wine for the occasion,' replied Domitian. 'I await your visit; have a pleasant journey.'

Abraxas changed from his house robes into state robes, grabbed his cloak and cane, thanking the house elf, exited his house and made for the carriage. A servant waited respectfully holding the door open. Once Abraxas got in the servant closed the door behind him, then climbing onto the driver's seat whipped the Pegasi. The winged horses spread their wings, beating them powerfully, galloping at the same time down the alley. Several moments later the carriage took flight, the servant driving the horses faster, towards Romania. Abraxas relaxed in the soft pillows in the back, musing about the meeting he was about to have.

Several hours later, the Pegasi nearly spent, the Carpathian Mountains could be seen, and the driver, who had taken this journey numerous times, drove the horses towards Domitian's sprawling estate in the mountains. A tall castle could be seen, built with beige limestone, with dragons acting as gargoyles. The carriage put down next to a fountain with two dragons, their wings outstretched, shooting water from their mouths.

A livered servant, bearing Domitian's Dragon mark embroidered on his robes, opened the door, while the Master of the Castle waited near the tall doors to greet his friend.

'Old friend, it has been a while,' said Domitian, extending his hands in friendship.

'Indeed it has,' replied Abraxas, taking Domitian's hand. 'I had a day to myself and decided to visit you; since as you say it has been a while.'

'Will you stay for dinner?' asked Domitian, gesturing for his servants to take care of the carriage.

'If it is not too much of a bother,' replied Abraxas.

'Nonsense, since Emilia has started her tour of Europe I have been left all by myself,' replied Domitian, 'well myself and the dragons. But as you imagine they are not much for conversation.'

'That they aren't,' laughed Abraxas, following his friend indoors of the massive castle.

Domitian guided him towards a small salon, used by his family for private meetings with close friends, cosy without losing any of its elegance or opulence. Another servant brought the famous bottle of Black Maiden that Domitian had advertised then retreated to leave the two their privacy.

'This is the fabled wine you were telling me about?' asked Abraxas, taking the offered glass.

'Trust me, such wine is fit for the gods themselves to drink,' laughed Domitian, 'it is grown on the estates of a friend of mine, south east of here.'

'Decent palate,' replied Abraxas after tasting the wine.

'I hear you've had some trouble up in England lately,' said Domitian, 'with some werewolves I've heard.'

'Yes there has been an attack, we don't know much about it yet,' replied Abraxas, the thought making him uncomfortable.

'Did you lose anyone?' asked Domitian candidly.

'No, thankfully,' replied Abraxas, the death list flashing in front of his eyes. 'Not that there are many I still have.'

'And how is Lucius?' asked Domitian 'he is in his seventh year isn't he?'

'Yes,' said Abraxas, 'He is about to finish Hogwarts. I don't see him much anymore, he has moved in the townhouse over the summer.'

'Granted I don't follow much of politics anymore, but I've heard the British Aurors were recalled from Bulgaria,' said Domitian, trying to change the uncomfortable subject, 'our own government has sent several Riders to try to calm things in Bulgaria.'

'Is the fighting still going on?' asked Abraxas.

'The fighting has died down,' said Domitian, 'there is a national unity government, but the factions still draw wands whenever they can. An unstable Bulgaria bodes ill for the region. Romania will step in where Britain left. Or so the Rider's Council has decided. I don't bother myself with politics that much nowadays.'

'You're mocking me, right?' replied Abraxas, 'they used to come and ask you anything from foreign policy to the colour of the Riders robes.'

Domitian laughed with a nostalgic smile on his face. 'Those were good times, I give you that. Still you should try stepping away from politics for a while. It does wonders for your lifespan.'

'I wish I could,' replied Abraxas, 'but there is too much at stake. And with the financial trouble recently. No, I am afraid I still have many years to look forward to in the House. That is until Lucius picks up the reins. He is too young though, still filled with illusions of grandeur and adventure. He needs to trudge through the Commons a few years, to open his eyes to the cold hard reality.'

'Well enough of that,' said Domitian, 'come let me show you what I have recently received…'

Abraxas returned back at Wiltshire later than he had previously intended. He had sorely missed a time when his afternoons were different from politics or business. Still, as he entered the vast manor, he dropped his cloak and cane for the elf to take, ordered it to wake him up early for the meeting and went straight to bed.

The cheery sunny morning did not seem suited to the graveness of the matter, as the Lords of Britain made their way up the steps to the Palace of the Lords and Commons. Their faces were grim and hardened, some having even brought escorts. The number of Aurors present had doubled, the ceremonial guards looking suspicious at anyone who was not dressed in State Robes. As a security measure, normally clothed Aurors were dispersed throughout the crowd, attentive and ready to strike at anyone who did not seem to belong.

Lord Malfoy Apparated in front of the Palace, without guards, scoffing at those who believed that the werewolves would dare to attack in broad daylight. He almost wished the beasts would dare to attack, so he could show them what a proper wizard was capable of. People seemed to naturally gravitate towards him, and as such he had gathered quite a crowd of followers by the time he had reached the tall doors. The two Aurors on guard bowed respectfully and opened the tall doors for one of the most powerful wizards in the nation. Indeed, if the Minister of Magic was the first person in the state, in order of precedence, the three triumvirs would be second. Behind the scenes, the situation was different, with the current Minister a mere puppet of the political games played by the ever warring Houses of Commons and Lords. The situation worked flawlessly during times of peace, with the Aliquanta candidates capable to greet foreign dignitaries and smile for the photographers during state functions. During times of crisis, a strong hand was required, however, and its lack was evident in the confusion and fear that seemed to have gripped the magical world.

The House would not sit for session for another hour, and the Lords of the realm had gone to their clubs for the morning, to discuss, make deals, threaten and cajole to gain influence and standing. No such morning for the leaders, however, as Abraxas' office in the Palace was filled with dignitaries. Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold, together with her shifty Senior Undersecretary, Cornelius Fudge, Lord Macmillan, Lord Potter, and the three triumvirs, Lords Malfoy, Lestrange and Black occupied the large office, seated around a conference table that adjoined the main office.

'_Dear_ colleagues,' started Abraxas, voice dripping with sarcasm as he stared at Richard Potter, 'we are gathered here today to discuss the recent crisis, as you are all aware. Minister, what steps are being taken to apprehend the beasts?'

'Lord Malfoy,' started Millicent, 'we don't even know where to start. This attack is completely unprecedented. We don't even know where to start looking for them.'

'Doesn't the Ministry hold a record of existing werewolves?' snapped Cygnus.

'We do, but not all of them register,' replied Millicent.

'Well the steps to take are clear,' drawled Dimitry Lestrange, 'send out Aurors and arrest all known werewolves. After we have rounded up the beasts we can interrogate them to find out who was responsible and deal adequate punishment.'

'That I disagree with,' started Richard Potter, 'granted, the werewolves are not proper wizards, but you can't simply arrest all of them for a crime some of them have committed.' The atmosphere in the room tensed as the triumvirs sported looks of disgust at Potter's lack of spine for action. Abraxas seemed ready to rebut his point of view, but Lord Macmillan stepped in.

'Richard, we can't wear gloves with this situation,' said Lord Macmillan, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, 'I am afraid that Lord Lestrange is correct.'

'I will not stand to let this nation become an Auror State, where arrests are made for no reason then to appease the public,' said Richard Potter.

'Perhaps Lord Potter has a better plan, then,' said Abraxas.

'No, Lord Malfoy, I am afraid I am fresh out of ideas in this case,' conceded Richard, 'but if we antagonize them further such incidents may be repeated.'

'Then we are in accord,' said Cygnus, 'Minister we must take action.'

'I, I don't know,' said Millicent Bagnold, 'we would need to grant additional powers to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to conduct arrests.'

'That could be done easily,' said Abraxas, looking towards Cornelius Fudge, 'Cornelius, draft a resolution quickly, and the House can adopt it in today's session.'

'You forget one thing Lord Malfoy,' intervened Richard Potter, 'it is not the place of the House of Lords to dictate policy. The House of Commons must approve any local affairs before they are passed onto the House of Lords for ratification.'

'I forget nothing, Lord Potter,' replied Abraxas, smiling slightly, 'this is not a local affair. The unregistered werewolves that probably conducted this attack are not a part of our nation. As such, this has become an external threat. To quote from the Seven Tablets, The House of Lords shall handle any legislative decisions pertaining to external affairs of nation and state. '

'Just because they are not registered, doesn't mean they are not citizens,' snapped Richard Potter.

'It means exactly that,' replied Cygnus in support of his friend, 'not only are they committing a crime for not registering, but they have also conducted an unprovoked attack on Magical Britain. We must return the favour and wipe them out.'

'Wipe them out?' said Potter, not believing the way the discussion was heading to, 'the penalty for murder is a lifetime sentence in Azkaban, not execution.'

'True, but this is not murder, this is an act of war,' replied Dimitry, picking up the cue, 'and in war, there are deaths.'

'You are twisting the facts to your advantage Lord Lestrange,' said Richard, 'the House of Commons will not stand for this.'

'It doesn't need to, it is the House of Lords who handles external affairs,' said Abraxas, 'I thought we had already agreed on that point.'

The calm discussion soon degenerated into a fight, with tones beginning to be raised between Lord Potter and the triumvirs. Lord Macmillan remained silent, considering the matter. He could see the reason in both the offers, but he could not decide which was the best course of action. The Minister appeared lost, but Cornelius Fudge held a feral glance. Cornelius, although young was said to be supremely ambitious and a man for whom the end justified the means. He had climbed to the position of Senior Undersecretary by backstabbing those in his own party, through threats and blackmail. Some saw him as an opportunist, while others catalogued him as a rising star.

'Minister, in the end this is an executive decision,' drawled Abraxas, 'it is up to you to decide what course of action must be taken. What say you?'

'I don't know,' replied Millicent, staring into the distance, 'I don't know what to do.'

'Minister, if you are incapable of handling the situation, tell us,' said Cygnus, 'so that we may dismiss you and call for another to stand in your place.' The audience looked shocked, the Minister most out of all of them, the reality of the feebleness of her position dawning at last. It was the moment Fudge chose to intervene.

'Minister, Lord Malfoy is right. Action _must_ be taken!'

'You too, Cornelius?' asked Millicent. Cornelius did not even have the decency to look abashed at the treason.

'Minister, I am for the good of Magical Britain,' replied pompously Cornelius, 'that duty supersedes personal loyalty.'

'For the love of Jupiter, Minister,' snapped Abraxas, 'if your Senior Undersecretary is willing to take action, yet you are not, how does that reflect on your position.'

'If you are incapable, perhaps young Cornelius needs to step in,' added Cygnus nastily, at which Cornelius' eyes shone with opportunity. That seemed to at least gain the Minister's attention, as she straightened up.

'No, gentlemen, I am ready to take whatever steps necessary to protect our people,' said Millicent, 'Cornelius, draft that resolution quickly. As for your treason, we shall discuss it some other time.' Cornelius seemed disappointed, but proceeded to obey.

With ten minutes to spare until the Lords sat in session, Cornelius Fudge ran to Abraxas, handing him the resolution to grant the Department of Magical Law Enforcement the necessary powers to root out the werewolves. Lord Malfoy took it without a word then entered the chamber.

Chairman Albus Dumbledore called the House to order as the various Lords took their assigned seats. The session was to be a long one, beginning with the various trade accords that expired and needed to be renewed. Since various financial interests prevailed in such matters, an unspoken agreement between the factions allowed the trade agreements to be passed with minor arguments. Dumbledore was pleased at the day so far, since no fights had occurred, and no one had been slighted of their rights. As the House prepared to break up for lunch, the tension thickened. It was at that point that Lord Malfoy stood up.

'The chair grants the floor to Lord Malfoy,' said Dumbledore tiredly.

'It is not the floor I desire, but to propose a resolution,' said Abraxas.

'A resolution, Lord Malfoy?' replied Dumbledore, 'that is highly unprecedented. Resolutions are submitted before the session, not in the middle of it. I am afraid that we will have to discuss it at the next session.' Outrage broke out in the hall, as the one hundred and thirty Nobilitas candidates stood to exclaim their support of Malfoy.

'I am afraid I have received it just this morning, from the office of the Minister of Magic,' drawled Abraxas, 'it is related to the current werewolf crisis. I move that we vote on whether the resolution is going to be debated.'

'Seconded,' said quickly one of the Lords from the Nobilitas.

Dumbledore sighed; certain battles were impossible to win in the House.

'That won't be necessary, Lord Malfoy, the chair will accept the resolution, if it comes from the office of the Minister,' said Dumbledore, 'now if there are no other points to discuss for now, I say we retire for lunch.' No one objected, and as the session ended for the morning, the Lords exited the chamber, the Palace cantina filling with people, while the exclusive restaurants on the Palace Alley filled with those who did not choose the cantina.

It was to be a long session, as the Lords returned, the Aliquanta giddy with anticipation at the confrontation that was sure to appear between the Nobilitas and the Novus Veneficus on such a sensitive issue.

Dumbledore was less than pleased, lunch had not sat well with him and he much preferred Hogwarts' simple cooking and events than the Palace refined cuisine and intrigue. He had a chance to glance over the rather short resolution over lunch, probably the cause of his indigestion. Although carefully disguised as a call for action, it was nothing else than ordering the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to round up all the werewolves and execute all the unregistered ones. That Dumbledore would not stand for, and over lunch he had devised a plan that could save the day. As was usually the case, however, the decision hung in balance with the Aliquanta. He only hoped they would listen to reason and not their petty interests.

_To be continued…_

XV


	7. Betrayal

A/N: Usual disclaimer applies.

'Will all Lords come to order,' said Dumbledore, calling the House to session. The action in itself was unnecessary, as everyone was already seated, awaiting the resolution, but the magical world was nothing if not traditional.

'We have in front of us a resolution proposed by Lord Malfoy, on behalf of the Ministry of Magic, concerning the current crisis,' said Dumbledore, 'I shall read it out to the House, then allocate time for the Lords to speak for or against it.' Dumbledore cleared his voice then begun to read the controversial proposal.

'_Our world has been attacked by Werewolves of unidentified tribes last night. This attack has resulted in the deaths of one hundred ninety witches and wizards, as is detailed in the Magical Law Enforcement Department's report. The attack was unprovoked and crude in its brutality. As Minister of Magic, I cannot allow attacks on our citizens to occur._

_As concerns this current crisis, I Millicent Bagnold, pureblood to the fourth generation, Minister of Magic, propose the following actions to be taken:_

_The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, through its instrument of law enforcement, the Auror Corps, will be granted additional temporary powers to solve the current crisis;_

_All Werewolves, registered with the Department for the Control of Magical Beasts, will be required to present themselves to the Ministry for interrogation;_

_Since Veritaserum is unreliable when it comes to non-humans, additional methods of coercion are to be authorised, to obtain the necessary information;_

_These interrogations will be carried out by the Auror Corps, giving them full undisclosed authority to treat the Werewolves as they see fit;_

_As concerns Unregistered Werewolves, if their involvement is proven to have occurred in this crisis, the Auror Corps is authorised to kill on sight;_

_As a preventive measure against future attacks, all Werewolves are to wear an identifier bracelet, with their name, blood status and address magically imprinted on it;_

_The procurement of these bracelets shall be handled as is customary, their fabrication being granted to whichever company comes up with the most efficient and economical bracelets;_

_The refusal to wear the bracelet will result in a five year Azkaban sentence. In the case that the __offence__ is repeated the sentence will be increased to twenty years in Azkaban prison. In the case of a third repetition, the sentence shall be for life;_

_The use of the Unforgivables is temporarily accorded to the Auror Corps for the duration of this crisis._

_Signed today, by the Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, Senior Undersecretary Cornelius Fudge, Department of Magical Law Enforcement Head, Bartemius Crouch.'_

Dumbledore finished reading the resolution, his disapproval of it obvious in the tone of his voice. 'Will anyone speak in favour of this resolution?' As was predictable, Abraxas raised his wand. 'The chair recognizes Lord Malfoy.'

Two hundred eyes were upon Abraxas as he made his way from the right of the chamber to the speaker dais. Upon reaching the podium, he put his wand inside his robes, then with a theatrical flourish began his speech, a fake tiredness in his voice.

'Fellow Lords of the realm. Our society was subject to a barbaric attack last night. Witches and wizards slaughtered in their homes. Families torn apart. Little children made orphans overnight. I was fortunate to not lose anyone, for now, but I cannot imagine the pain the families must be feeling. The danger of extinction of the old families is upon us,' said Abraxas Malfoy. Then his voice, which had been grave until now, picked up slightly, as if to convey hope. 'But there is still hope. The Minister has detailed a plan of action, together with the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement. A plan that can set things to rights and protect us in the future. I understand that some of these measures seem harsh, but there is no end to which I would go to protect our citizens. I beseech you to adopt this resolution as it stands.'

'Thank you, Lord Malfoy,' said Dumbledore, when it was apparent that the elder Malfoy had finished his speech. 'Will anyone else like to speak in favour?'

Lord Lestrange stood up, martially, being recognized by the chair. Unlike Abraxas, his step was firm and his voice rang throughout the hall. After the sombre performance of Lord Malfoy, the chamber was surprised at the ferocity of Dimitry's attitude.

'Lord Malfoy is too kind,' said Lord Lestrange, 'and I can sympathize with that. Now, however is not the time for kindness or softness. These beasts have dared to strike at the heart of our society. These half breeds have raised a hand to witches and wizards. What sort of message do we give to the other creatures? I can imagine another goblin rebellion.' He paused for effect, letting the words sink in.

The chamber shuddered, as most except the youngest of Lords still remembered the horrors of the last goblin rebellion. 'What sort of message are we giving to the rest of the world? This is not a time to appear weak. This is a time to strike back with full force. Let the Aurors march out and strike the beasts' lairs. Let us wipe them out so that they may never again threaten us.'

Lord Lestrange finished the speech, his tone raised to a powerful roar almost. Some members in the chamber, particularly those of the Nobilitas mirrored his war cry, and powerful applause rang in the chamber, drowning out the shouts of the Novus Veneficus. Malfoy allowed himself a small smile from his seat. The introduction had been flawless, while the war cry had invigorated the audience. He was worried of the Aliquanta, however, who remained silent throughout both speeches, and even now looked at Lord Macmillan.

Dumbledore remained silent as well, pondering the choices he had in his mind. 'The chair now wishes to entertain the opposition,' said Dumbledore. Shouts could be heard from the Nobilitas, but Malfoy and Black calmed them down. There was not much more that could be said in favour.

'Who wishes to speak against?' asked Dumbledore.

'Why not just call Lord Potter from the start,' shouted one of the minor Lord of the Nobilitas, causing laughter to ripple through their ranks. Unaffected, Dumbledore granted the floor to Richard Potter, who made his way to the speaker podium.

'This resolution is nothing but a carte blanche for murder,' spat Richard Potter, 'and as such is unfit for our chambers. I shall rip it apart point by point. Point one states that additional powers shall be granted to the Auror Corps. Am I the only one who sees this as a disguise for the creation of an Auror state? Soon we shall probably start arresting undesirables in our society, all for preserving the peace. This point cannot stand, the Aurors' attributes are perfectly suited for handling the criminals. And this was a crime, fellow Lords, not an act of war as Lord Lestrange will have you believe. The unregistered werewolves are unregistered because they do not wish to subject themselves to registration. I do not blame them, as the process is rather barbaric.' Outrage ran in the chamber, with some accusing him of siding with the beasts. Once the noise had quieted down, Lord Potter continued unaffected.

'That does not make them a foreign organisation. Point two: All werewolves are to present themselves at the Ministry. Does that include the children? Are we going to start dragging werewolf elders, children and females from their houses and torture them for information? Point three: Veritaserum cannot be used? Agreed, its effect on non-humans is debatable, but are we to discard it from start? What about Legilimency? We have wizards trained in the mind arts, perhaps some that can make sense of an alien mind. Point four: The Aurors are to be granted full authority during the interrogation. That is just a way to let them torture them for information. I won't even start to tell you why that is wrong. If you think otherwise it is unlikely I can change your mind anyhow. Point five: Killing on sight? What is next? Should we dismantle the Wizengamot courts and simply have the Aurors kill suspects on sight? Points six, seven and eight regarding the bracelets are inhumane. Werewolves are not wizards but they are not beasts either. We cannot put leashes on them. Point nine, according the full usage of the Unforgivables. This crisis is not large enough to have such a radical measure in place. Once we go down that road there are dangerous side streets branching from it. I am completely against using the Unforgivables.' Lord Potter finished his speech, retiring back to his seat with a tired gait, under the thunderous applause of the Novus Veneficus, and even most of the Aliquanta. He had scored a victory today; he could feel it in his old bones.

'If there are no further points, we shall move unto voting,' said Dumbledore, leaving a few seconds for objections. Cygnus looked as if he wanted to say a few words, but appeared to have changed his mind as he said nothing. In order of allegiance, each Lord stood up, walked to voting table that had been brought out for significant votes and touched one of the globes on the table with his wand.

First was Lord Malfoy, who walked calmly towards the table, moved aside so the entire chamber could see, and touched the white globe. Lord Black, followed by Lord Lestrange touched the white globe also. Behind them trickled the full complement of the Nobilitas, as they each proudly displayed their choice.

Lord Potter made his way towards the voting table, moving slowly, as the speech had exhausted him, and touched his wand to the black globe, which shone slightly. The other nine Lords of the Novus Veneficus selected their choice as well.

The two warring factions out of the way, their eyes all went towards the Aliquanta. Lord Macmillan walked nervously towards the voting table; cast a glance at the triumvirs, then one at Richard Potter, who smiled at him. Two hundred eyes were upon him at the moment. He had never before been subject to such celebrity in the house. Withdrawing his wand from his robes, he seemed to pause in the middle, then firmly touched the black globe. The Novus Veneficus broke out in applause, like schoolchildren. The Triumvirs' looks made Lord Macmillan want to change his vote, but he stood firm. His party followed him, making their choices. After each Lord had voted, two numbers appeared in the air, detailing the results. Dumbledore's voice seemed to have regained some of its joviality.

'Since this is a matter of changing the organisation of our government, a 2/3 majority is required. The resolution fails by 130 to 80 votes. This session has ended.'

'The Aliquanta have betrayed us,' snapped Lestrange, 'I will torture that pansy Macmillan until he screams for mercy.'

'Restrain yourself Dimitry,' drawled Abraxas, 'this is neither the time nor the place.'

'We are doomed,' said Cygnus, 'by using the current methods the Aurors won't be able to apprehend one werewolf. And the press will call out for blood.'

'I don't know about you, but I suggest you hire some additional protection for your families,' added Lord Greengrass, then continued in doubt, 'I don't know if my House Guards can stop a pack of werewolves.'

'Let them come, I'll rip them to shreds,' roared Lestrange.

Richard Potter was congratulating Lord Macmillan, joined by Dumbledore as the Nobilitas delegation walked out of the chamber. The press at the gallery could be seen writing furiously on their parchments and snapping photos of the Lords as quickly as they could before they left. Each of the party leaders had been accosted by reporters on his way out. Lord Malfoy spoke briefly for the Nobilitas, detailing his disappointment in the way things had gone. Lord Macmillan, backed by Lord Potter remained at the Palace for a full fledged conference. The press would not agree with them, however.

The following morning, the owls flew across Magical Britain, delivering papers with scathing titles. 'The Minister betrayed by her own party!' 'The Novus Veneficus and the Aliquanta scared to act!' 'Elderly Lord Potter against saving lives!' The titles continued, as each newspaper sprouted off acid at the two Lords who had blocked legislation.

Lord Voldemort smiled as Igor brought the morning paper. Everything had gone as he had planned. There was now one last thing to take care of. A short trip was in order. However, things needed to be set in motion before he could depart. Wishing he had an easier solution to call his followers than going through intermediaries, he called for Karkaroff.

'Master, you sent for me?' asked Igor, after entering the Dark Lord's chamber. He stared at the sight that greeted him. Lord Voldemort was not one for fashion statements, usually dressed in plain black robes, and the white mask when he went for a mission. That was more Igor's domain.

Now however, the situation was completely reversed. Lord Voldemort was dressed in tall black boots, white breeches, a black cut riding robe, silver plate armour on his chest, bearing a strange symbol, together with a long silver travelling cloak with hood and a pure gold face mask. Perhaps the strangest of them all was the long-sword hanging from his belt on the right side. As Igor stood, awaiting confirmation, Lord Voldemort finished his outfit, adding a silver sash over his armour.

A member of an older wizarding family might have understood the significance of the strange outfit, but Igor Karkaroff, for all his claims to purity came from a mediocre family. He might have heard of them, but he had never seen one in his entire life. Few people, who were not Knights themselves, laid eyes on a Knight of Walpurgis and survived to tell the tale.

'Yes Igor, I did,' replied Lord Voldemort, his voice muffled by the mask that covered his entire face. 'I need you to summon our friends Maltius and Evan. We need their help tonight.'

'Certainly master,' said Igor, awaiting further advice or explanation. Lord Voldemort did not deign to give him either.

'Have them ready,' said Lord Voldemort as he dismissed him. He then reached for a portkey, and with a last glance at his chamber, as the portkey activated, disappeared.

Cursing the wards that forced him to cross the remaining distance on foot, Lord Voldemort made his way through the forest until he reached a clearing. The trees parted to reveal a tall wall and a large gate, guarded by two similarly dressed wizards, sporting black sashes over their glittering silver armour. As he approached, the two drew swords and wands, placing themselves in front of the gates.

'Speak the words and enter,' said one of the guards.

'We protect our world,' said Lord Voldemort cryptically.

'We stand in the darkness, ready to strike,' replied the guard.

'Our magic is our shield and sword,' finished Lord Voldemort. The two separated to allow him to pass.

'You have returned Lord Voldemort,' said the guard.

'Is the Grandmaster here?' asked Lord Voldemort, cutting straight through the pleasantries.

'He is in the North tower. I shall send word,' replied the guard, as Lord Voldemort crossed under the gates and entered the courtyard. 'Welcome back to Walpurgrad,' added the guard to Voldemort's retreating back,

Lord Voldemort made his way to the castle ahead, passing through the small town that had congregated around the fortress. On his way to see the Grandmaster he saw youths in training, both with sword and wand, while their more advanced brethren used a combination of both.

Several who recognized him, bowed in respect, allowing him his privacy. As he climbed the steps to the entrance and then to the North tower, his mind reviewed the speech he had prepared. The Grandmaster of the Order was not one to succumb to tricks. Truth and reason were his allies now. Allies that he was no longer accustomed to using.

The situation was reversed for once, as Lord Voldemort entered the spire of the North tower and bowed on one knee.

'Rise, old friend,' said the Grandmaster, not allowing Lord Voldemort to suffer the humility of bowing for long. 'It has been long since you have last visited us Marvolo.'

'I no longer use that name, Grandmaster,' replied Lord Voldemort, forcing himself to speak respectfully.

'I know, I have heard of your exploits in England,' replied the Grandmaster. 'So, Lord Voldemort, to what occasion do you return to us?'

'I require your help, Grandmaster,' said Lord Voldemort, joining him on the window sill, looking down at the knights and the trainees.

'With the werewolves?' asked the Grandmaster. For the first time, doubt began to creep in Voldemort's mind. Still, there were no witnesses. It was impossible for the Grandmaster to know the truth.

'Yes, Grandmaster. The Ministry is inept. They need to be eradicated,' lied Lord Voldemort smoothly.

'I do wonder who motivated them to strike at Britain,' said the Grandmaster, staring into Lord Voldemort's golden mask.

'They are beasts, Grandmaster, they do not think like we do,' said Lord Voldemort.

'It is a dangerous game you are playing Marvolo.' Voldemort flinched at his given name. 'But you are a member of this Order and are entitled to aid. Once a Knight of Walpurgis always a Knight of Walpurgis. How many do you need?'

'They are many of them, Grandmaster,' said Lord Voldemort, 'Give me a company.'

'You need two hundred Knights to strike at a tribe of Werewolves?' snapped the Grandmaster.

'Our brother's lives are precious to me, Grandmaster,' said Lord Voldemort. 'In numbers there is strength.'

'Very well, Lord Voldemort,' said the Grandmaster, 'I shall send orders. Take the fifth company with you.'

'Thank you, Grandmaster,' said Lord Voldemort, 'May we return triumphant.'

'See that you do.' The Grandmaster dismissed Lord Voldemort, who clenched his teeth in annoyance. Soon he shall have his own followers, and no longer will he be required to beg for aid. Still, for now he would have to make do.

The herald had arrived at the same time as Lord Voldemort to the barracks of the Fifth Company. Two hundred knights waited in parade formation, in the saddles of their mounts, their armour polished, their golden masks fastened, and their hoods drawn. Despite his tricks, Lord Voldemort could not help but feel a moment of pride. The sight was indeed glorious. On his mark the Knights fell in formation behind him, as they rode towards the gates. The double gates were opened wide to allow the two man abreast formation to pass. Once they had arrived at the location used for transit, each knight grabbed hold of one of their preset portkeys and disappeared on their short voyage to England, their magical horses trained for the form of transportation.

The short wizard in the Department of Magical Transportation saw his quadrants fluctuate, indicating a spike in Portkey traffic to England. Checking his schedule he saw the upcoming Five Warlocks' concert in Diagon Alley was soon to start. Passing it off as mere late arrivals, he continued to read his Quidditch magazine.

The so called Five Warlocks' fans had arrived in the plains near Voldemort's house. They were joined by three wide eyed English wizards. Lord Voldemort moved towards them, as the Knights dismounted to calm down their mounts after the stressful portkey journey.

'Igor, I see you have equipped our friends adequately,' remarked Lord Voldemort on the black robes and white masks that Maltius and Evan were wearing. 'We have been joined tonight by some friends of mine. Maltius, Evan, now we strike back at the half-breeds that have dared raise an arm on our society.'

Igor's eyes widened slightly, remembering a trip taken to a werewolf lair, but wisely chose to remain silent. After all, the master's plans were not his concern. Maltius and Evan however, seemed fanatically ready, poisoned by the sublime confidence that their age and blood gave them. Lord Voldemort gave them the Apparition coordinates and two hundred and four wizards, with two hundred magical horses Disapparated for Fenrir's domain, unknown to the Werewolves.

Fenrir Greyback was still celebrating the victory with his pack, a few lazy guards posted outside of the cave complex. The werewolves were ecstatic with joy, some of them slightly drunk, and completely unaware of the small army that had Apparated several hundred metres away. One of the Knights, out of respect for Lord Voldemort had dismounted and offered his horse to Lord Voldemort, joining Maltius, Igor and Evan on foot. Lord Voldemort thanked him, then mounted up, ready to address his troops.

'The beasts are no match for us, but they are numerous,' said Lord Voldemort, 'we need to draw them out in the open, where we are at an advantage. Thankfully for us, they are aggressive and will respond to any attack in force. Maltius, Evan and Igor, I need you to act as bait.'

Igor looked slightly green in the face, Maltius listened calmly but Evan a seemed to absorb every word that Voldemort spoke. Now he understood. This was the moment he was born for. Lord Voldemort continued uncaring about their reactions.

'I need you three to attack the guards at the entrance of the cave,' said Lord Voldemort, 'however it is essential that you leave one of them alive to warn the rest.'

'But my lord, if they warn them, won't they come out to attack us?' asked Igor, without thinking beforehand.

'That is the plan Igor,' said Lord Voldemort, annoyed but unwilling to antagonize the naturally nervous wizard. 'Once they come out to attack, make your way back to us. It is essential to draw them out of their lair. Once they are in the open field, we will strike them head on.'

'It will be done my lord,' said Maltius, speaking for the three.

'And remember, there are complicated spells to deal with werewolves, but a killing curse works just as well,' added Lord Voldemort, hoping the three were capable of it. It would not do to lose his starting three followers until he gathered more.

The same plan of action was detailed to the Knights, who merely nodded grimly, unafraid. They mounted their horses, checking the saddles then spread into a long, thin line of battle, ready for one glorious charge to end the battle swiftly.

Igor, Maltius and Evan were not as confident. Seeing the nervousness of Igor, despite his precedence of rank, Maltius took point, walking slightly ahead and giving commands. There were four guards, currently drinking themselves to a stupor. Luckily it was not a full moon, and as such the half-breeds did not enjoy any advantage except superior numbers.

'All right,' whispered Maltius, 'spread out to make them think we are more than three people. Leave the one closest to the entrance alive. And do not miss. We strike on three.'

His two companions nodded their understanding, and spread out to surround the four near drunk werewolves. Maintaining eye contact, Maltius raised a gloved hand. One, two, three. _'Avada Kedavra!'_ Three identical emerald flashes left their wands, striking three of the werewolves in beautiful synchrony. The fourth yelled seeing his companions fall, but decided his own safety was more important and rushed indoors. Maltius shot a few curses after him, missing deliberately.

'Now, reductor curses at the entrance!' snapped Maltius. The synchronised _'Reducto!' _rang in the silence of the night, producing more sound than damage. Still it gave off the impression of a siege, and was bound to attract the beasts inside.

The guard had rushed to warn Fenrir of the impending attack, disturbing the entire partying den on his way in. Several of the older males drew their wands to teach him the pecking order, but Fenrir raised a hand stopping them.

'What is it?' snapped Greyback.

'Alpha Greyback, we are under attack,' wailed the guard, 'the Ministry have found us.'

'Are you sure?' asked Greyback, not believing his ears.

'Yes, Alpha, wizards, the others are dead,' said the guard, 'they have us surrounded, they came at us from everywhere.'

Just then the sound of the Reductos could be heard, the cave walls shaking from the bombardment, a statue of a wolf tumbling down, crashing into a passed out werewolf.

'Weaklings,' spat Fenrir, 'they are afraid to enter and attack us. That is not the way of the wolf. Rouse everyone, we attack at once!'

Shouts could be heard as the werewolves gathered to sally out of their besieged caves. They were weaker outside the full moon, but their werewolf infection still granted them some inhuman characteristics. Sadly, caution and tactics were not one of them.

Maltius could see the werewolves exiting the cave, and felt a shiver on his back as he saw the dark mass of dirty, unwashed werewolves. Weaklings they may be as the master called them, but by Jupiter they were many of them. Remembering that far more dangerous was the bite than any spell, he vowed to keep his distance.

Seeing a werewolf that appeared to be more important than the rest, as he was howling to let them feel the silver later on if they didn't get moving quicker he stood up from the bushes and yelled at the top of his voice _'Avada Kedavra!'_ The green illuminated the clearing, striking the Werewolf beta before he could finish another threat. Igor and Evan had caught on and started shooting their own killing curses.

Once the initial confusion of the attack had worn off, the werewolves ran forward, frenzied by the death of their beta.

'Our job here is done,' yelled Maltius, then breaking at a run back towards the Dark Lord. Igor, never one to be left behind from running from a fight was quickly after, even managing to surpass Maltius at times. Evan had debated whether to stay and fight, but remembering the horror tales of being bitten by a werewolf killed another one then joined his friends in retreat.

Lord Voldemort stood calmly on his horse, his company aligned in perfect stillness. As a cloud moved and the moon cast some light onto what was soon to become a battlefield, he spotted Igor, Maltius and Evan running as fast as their legs would carry them, followed by frenzied werewolves, dressed in rags and shabby robes. As per an unheard command, each Knight switched the reins to the left side, basing themselves mostly on their knees to control the superbly trained horses and drew their swords with the same hand. The wands remained in the right hand, at ready, awaiting the order to charge.

Lord Voldemort cast another glance at the werewolves, most of whom had exited the small woods and were now vulnerable in the field, then shot emerald sparks out of his wand, kicking his horse at a gallop.

The knights followed, closing the range with the werewolves. The Betas by now understood that they had been tricked, but instead of withdrawing roared orders at the top of their voice to kill, maim, slaughter and feast on their corpses. The unwilling and weak that ran away would feel the silver later on tonight.

As soon as the distance lessened, the Knights started casting spells. Although some preferred to be more fancy in their spellwork, most relied on the proven Killing curse. Several dozen Werewolves hit the ground before even making contact. Even fewer of them stopped to trade spells with the enemy, forgetting they were not in their werewolf form. They were unused to battling an organized enemy as wizards, and their charge and maim tactics did not work as well as they did.

Lord Voldemort was enjoying himself. Not one werewolf had managed to save himself from his fury. Soon the Knights line had collided with the werewolves and the organised fight turned into a massacre. The powerful mounts had been trained to use their hooves to crush skulls and bones and were trampling down the werewolves, who attempted to jump and bite the Knights. If the distance became too close, the swords would swing and arms, heads, even wands were cleaved in two.

Fenrir was enraged, his werewolves had no order whatsoever and the wizards were organised into a line like steel. Seeing one knight by himself, he roared _'Avada Kedavra!'_ His aim fell short however, and the mount fell dead instead of the knight. Seeing a glimmer of hope several werewolves jumped at him, lusting for human flesh.

The knight had stood up, but held a broken wand in his right hand. Not losing his calm, he dropped the remains of his wand and drew his long sword. The first werewolf that reached him was decapitated by a powerful swing.

Fenrir was enraged at the death of one of his werewolves. He shot a bone breaking charm at the knight, aiming for his chest. He could not believe his eyes when the spell collided with the knight's breastplate and dissipated against the silvery metal. He did not have time to ponder his situation though, as a passing knight had taken advantage of his situation and slashed his sword over his back in passing.

Pain, inhuman pain as his skin was flayed of by the sword. It even seemed to burn his flesh as the silver did when he was a young werewolf and had dropped the lunch for the Alpha. Of course the Alpha had paid with his life once he had aged and Fenrir had grown strong, but by the divine moon goddess he had not forgotten the burn of silver.

Lord Voldemort directed the knights forward shooting killing curses at will and striking with the sword whenever he passed by a stray werewolf. Out of the back of his eye he saw Fenrir fall after he slashed at him, but he heard him moan afterwards. Tucking away the useful information that he was still alive, he continued the slaughter.

The battle had turned into a rout. With the Alpha down, as well as most of the Betas, the already disorganised werewolves had begun to run for the apparent safety of the caves. When they reached the beginning of the woods, Lord Voldemort dismounted, followed by most of the knights. A few dozens remained behind to stab at the injured werewolves and guard the horses.

By the time they had reached the caves the werwolves numbered in the mere dozens, with an elderly Beta in command. As the armoured wizards broke through the trees and into the clearing, many broke and ran. The few who resisted were shot down by killing curses or cleaved in two by the swords.

Lord Voldemort took the battle inside, not stopping until all of them were dead. The slaughter took on epic proportions as man, woman and child, none were sparred. Too tired to cast spells anymore, some of the Knights resorted to simply stab the remaining werewolves. Half an hour later the battle was nearly done. A small group of thirty werewolves, with three women had surrendered and were kept in the throne room.

'Master, we are victorious,' said Igor pompously, 'there are thirty prisoners who surrendered and await your justice.'

'There is no need to wait for that,' said Lord Voldemort, wiping his sword on the rags of a nearby corpse then sheathing it, 'kill them all.'

'Yes, my lord,' replied Igor promptly. Shortly after multiple voices casted _'Avada Kedavra!' _extinguishing any hope for mercy those who surrendered had.

The cleanup operation took a very short time; the werewolves were levitated into a large pile in front of their caves and left to rot. A select few, more important leaders were decapitated. There was nothing worthy to loot in the caves, and as such the Knights and the select few followers of Voldemort gathered outside.

'Have we lost any brothers?' asked Voldemort to the Master of the Company.

'Fifteen of our brothers will not see the sunlight glittering on Walpurgrad's towers, said the Master, 'but it was a small price to pay for clearing the word of this filth.'

'I am sorry,' lied Voldemort smoothly, 'please give my thanks to the Grandmaster.'

'I will, Lord Voldemort,' said the Master, 'may we return to Walpurgrad?'

Voldemort merely nodded, and once the Knights had gathered their mounts they activated the portkeys and disappeared, leaving the four wizards alone with a mountain of werewolves.

'Igor I have a job for you…' said Lord Voldemort before Disapparating.

The next morning, Igor Karkaroff, dressed in pristine dress robes, carrying a brown sac walked into the Ministry of Magic. Dozens of reporters seemed to gravitate towards the office of Barty Crouch, trying to get a statement. The Head of Magical Law Enforcement himself had to go out of his office and try to disperse the crowd.

'What will you do about the werewolf threat now that you hands are tied, sir?' asked one reporter.

'Do you feel betrayed by the wizards who voted down the resolution?' asked another.

'Gentlemen, I have a lot of work to do,' said Barty Crouch, trying to appeal to the reporters' reason 'and I don't have the time to answer your questions right now.' It was at that time that Igor chose to make his appearance, his brown sack in his right hand.

'The werewolves are no longer a concern, gentlemen,' said Igor, throwing down the sack. The heads of the Betas of Fenrir's pack rolled on the floor, staining the white marble with blood. Instantly the attention of the reporters turned towards him, while Barty Crouch stared in shock at the wizard who had walked into the Ministry with a sack of Werewolf heads.

'Sir, what is your name?' asked a reporter.

'My name is unimportant,' said Igor, 'I serve Lord Voldemort. He has taken care of your werewolf problem.'

'Who is Lord Voldemort?' asked another reporter.

'A wizard who wishes to help our society escape its crutches,' replied Igor, enjoying himself, 'a hero to us all, who has cleansed our world of the half-breeds who killed wizards.'

In the cellar at Voldemort's house a bloody Fenrir Greyback laid on a cot. Voldemort stood in the corner, now changed from his Knight of Walpurgis outfit into his trademark black robes. Igor had done well, and now the papers were roaring with praising Lord Voldemort and his organisation. Damn it he needed a name for them. Now, however, was not the time to consider it.

The survivors of the attacks had identified some of the werewolves, and the marks they bore shown they were unregistered. Young wizards pronounced their support for the shadow benefactor. Just then, Fenrir woke up, interrupting him from his thoughts.

'Lord Voldemort, what happened?' asked Fenrir groggily.

'Oh my friend,' said Voldemort with a sickening sweet voice, 'I am afraid the Aurors struck at your pack. By the time I got there it was too late to do anything. They left you for dead. I got you out.'

'The swords, it burned, the pain,' moaned Fenrir.

'Yes, I am sure it did,' said Voldemort nastily, as Fenrir trashed about in pain from the silver inflicted wound.

XIV


	8. The Magic of Christmas

**A/N: The following chapters will deal with Pureblood society at its best and at its worst. For those who are waiting for more of Voldemort's plans, rest assured Chapter 10 is a massive twist that will show his brilliance and forward his plans. There are however, hints and important little details being introduced in chapters 8 and 9 as well though. Enjoy.**

* * *

An early snowfall had covered the land, causing many of the witches and wizards of Britain to move their activities indoors. With the Christmas holydays approaching, a festive atmosphere permeated the air. The social event of the season was approaching, and as such the shop keepers were kept busy, working many hours into the night to complete the orders. It was close to impossible to obtain an order for a set of robes so late in the year, unless one wanted to buy off the rack.

Such restrictions did not apply to the Blacks, of course. Since the return of the daughters to Ravensden for the winter holydays, the ancestral home of the Blacks was filled with tailors and jewellers, much to Cygnus' chagrin. As his wife and daughters had spent hours on end choosing their fabrics, jewels and other accessories the day before, and bothering him for his opinion, he had risen early today and Apparated towards Wiltshire.

In contrast, Malfoy Manor, in all its grandeur was empty, devoid of any Christmas decorations. Abraxas spent the Christmas holydays much as he did the rest of the year. Tireless, the Malfoy patriarch was locked in his study, reading reports, planning strategies and dealing with the running of the Malfoy Guild. Nonetheless, with his friend's arrival he had deigned to make a pause, rise from his desk and join Cygnus in the drawing room.

'Cygnus, what brings you here?' inquired Abraxas, sitting down and calling for tea to be served.

'My wife and daughters have monopolized _my_ house,' replied Cygnus in frustration, 'I cannot stand another moment of fabrics and jewels for a century. I had to escape.'

Abraxas allowed himself a small chuckle, but could not commiserate with his friend. The last time his house had felt the joys of dealing with tailors and jewellers was many years ago, before his wife's illness prevented any sorts of outings.

'Well, you are welcome to take refuge here;' replied Abraxas, 'although I do warn you that Druella knows where I live.'

'Ah, she does, but she won't be able to follow us to the club,' said Cygnus. Abraxas raised an eyebrow, but Cygnus continued unabashed. 'I have thought it out completely. We shall go to the Club, where witches are not permitted. That way, I am sure to not be followed by my wife requesting my opinion.'

'Very well,' said Abraxas, 'allow me to change, and I shall join you.'

The Warlock's Club on Palace Alley was a popular gathering place for the Lords of the Realm. Established at the same time the Palace of the Lords, it shared the same monumental classical architecture as the Palace itself. Add in the fact that the membership was reserved to wizards only, witches not being allowed to set foot in its chambers, and that the membership fee exceeded what a middle class family made in a year, it was the one place where the old families' patriarchs could gather undisturbed.

Some of the evil gossip magazines questioned the more "dubious" events that went on behind the tall doors, and wondered if all witches were prohibited, or merely the wives, but it still was a respected establishment. Only two hundred members were allowed, with new members being required to be approved by the council that governed the club. That tiny little detail ensured that the nouveau riche did not make an entrance, no matter how much money they had acquired. Surprising for such an upscale establishment was the lack of wizard personnel. In the interests of preserving the privacy of the clients, only house elves were employed. While the use of wizard servants was seen as a symbol of status, an elf would not spill the secrets of its master as a wizard could.

The Club had been witness to many prestigious events throughout the ages. Various peace agreements between Magical Britain and the Goblins had been signed here. The peace conference following the British-French war of 1658 was officially held at the Palace, but much discussion had gone behind the sealed doors of the club. It seemed as if Cygnus was not the only one to escape his family this morning, as the Club was bustling with Lords. Cygnus and Abraxas saluted those they were acquainted to and then made their way to the billiard tables upstairs.

At Ravensden the chaotic atmosphere had taken a turn for the worst. The already strained relations between Andromeda and the rest of the family were aggravated by an off hand comment.

'Andromeda, you are to be accompanied to the ball by Rabastan Lestrange,' said Druella, entering her daughter's room, 'so you must wear matching colours. Now, Lady Lestrange has said that he will wear black robes with red trim. I suggest you wear silver robes. It would match nicely.'

'No,' said Andromeda calmly.

'Why not?' asked Druella, 'silver matches nicely with your hair. You could even wear Elladora's diamonds.' Nearby the magical mirror voiced its approval, commenting on how Andromeda's great-great-grandmother Elladora's diamonds would match perfectly. Andromeda threw an annoyed glance at the chatty mirror.

'I am not going to the ball with Rabastan Lestrange,' said Andromeda. Poor Druella, did not understand the way Andromeda's thoughts were heading.

'But dear, he is a very nice young man,' said Druella, 'he has invited you already, it would be rather rude to refuse him. Try at least to give him a chance.'

'No, I would rather go with a goblin then with one of the Lestrange brothers,' said Andromeda.

'Dear, there is no need to be insulting,' said Druella, 'I know you have been misguided in the past, but all will be right. No one will ever doubt you again if you appear at Rabastan's arm for the Ministry ball.'

'Mother, I am in love with Ted Tonks,' said Andromeda. Druella flinched upon hearing the muggle name, feeling a slight headache beginning to form.

'Andromeda, dear, that is not possible,' said Druella, trying to appear to her reason, 'you are still young, and he is so,' she paused a moment, searching for the right word, '_muggle_. What would the world say? Your father's reputation will be dragged in the mud. Please listen to us.'

'Not only am I in love with Ted Tonks, but I am also pregnant,' said Andromeda, raising her chin up. 'I am going to drop out of Hogwarts and have the baby. He is going to…'

Andromeda did not get a chance to finish her proud declaration of independence, as Druella, whose headache had begun to slowly turn into a mild feeling of faint had collapsed, falling down on the floor. The scuffle could be heard from several doors away, where Bellatrix and Narcissa were being measured for robes.

'What did you do, you harlot?' screamed Bellatrix, upon seeing her mother on the floor in Andromeda's room. Narcissa rushed to lift her mother's head of the floor, trying to wake her up. The shouts had attracted the servants and a few of the more curious tailors, who now all witnessed something that would have better been handled in private.

'Mother, wake up, please,' cried Narcissa holding her mother. She had tried to Enervate her but Druella remained stone cold on the floor. Seeing the situation around her, Narcissa stood up, taking charge.

'Famulus, would you please see the tailors and jewellers out,' ordered Narcissa, 'we are done for today.'

'Of course Mistress, bowed the elf,' shepherding the curious onlookers towards the main doors. Bellatrix had paused her tirade to look at her mother. Figuring her magic was more potent, she tried to Enervate her, but failed nonetheless. Several other house elves had shown up and surrounded their Mistress. Narcissa ordered them to call a healer from Saint Mungo's and put Druella to bed.

'I swear on my magic,' said Bellatrix, 'if something happens to mother because of you, I will make you regret you ever laid eyes on that muggle.'

'This is not the time, Bella,' said Narcissa, interposing herself between Bellatrix and Andromeda, who still held a defiant glance. 'Someone needs to tell daddy.'

'I'll go,' said Bellatrix, 'you take care of mother.'

Bellatrix was furious, the little harlot of a sister she had, had made her mother ill. She swore that she would be the last thing that pathetic Muggle would see before his untimely death. Calming herself as to avoid splinching, she Apparated to Wiltshire, where she heard her father was going.

'Where is your master, Elf?' said Bellatrix.

'Master Malfoy is not here, Miss Black,' said Dobby, 'he has gone out.'

'I need to see my father,' said Bellatrix, drawing her wand, 'where did they go?'

'Dobby is a good elf,' said the elf, 'Dobby keeps the family secrets.' Knowing the character of house elves, Bellatrix tried to calm herself and appeal to the elf's reason, if the creature had any.

'Dobby, listen,' said Bellatrix, 'my mother has had an accident; I need to tell my father.'

'Dobby not know,' said the elf, wringing its ears, 'it is not proper to tell.'

'_Crucio!'_ snapped Bellatrix, no longer able to contain her rage. 'Where did my father go?' Dobby at this point had started crying, but his loud wails attracted the attention of a wizard servant.

'Miss Black,' said the servant, 'this is highly unusual.' The servant did not want to antagonize the young Black girl, since he could pay dearly for it.

'This creature won't tell me where father went,' said Bellatrix, dropping her wand, 'I need to find him, something's happened to my mother.'

'Certainly, Miss, they went to the Warlock's club on Palace Alley,' said the servant, 'but they do not allow witches. Perhaps it is best to send an owl.'

'Not enough time for that,' said Bella, Disapparating without another word.

'Dobby not tell master's secrets,' sobbed the elf on the floor.

'You are an imbecile, elf,' snapped the servant, 'the girl's mother is ill and you keep secrets.' He walked away leaving the elf alone in its misery.

Bellatrix Apparated in front of the double bronze doors of the Club. Flicking her wand, the doors opened. After she had crossed under the tall arch, a small elf, bearing the insignia of the Club attempted to stop her.

'Witches are not allowed,' said the Elf, inflating its importance by raising his head.

'I have had enough of your kind for today, get out of my way,' snapped Bella. The elf proceeded to call for help as Bellatrix banished him across the room. The sound of the scuffle could be heard from upstairs, as several elves were trying to restrain Bellatrix from climbing the stairs. The noise had also attracted several onlookers, Cygnus and Abraxas included. Cygnus could not believe his eyes, a witch in the club. The spectacle was one that was worth seeing. In several seconds, he remained mortified. The "witch" was his own eldest daughter, who was now attacked by an elf.

'Let go of her, creature,' drawled Cygnus, raising his wand and banishing the elf who had tackled Bellatrix across the room. Bella had suffered a couple of bruises from the scuffle, but upon seeing her father ran to his arms.

'What is the matter, Bella?' said Cygnus, 'Why did you come here and cause this racket?' Abraxas in the back was setting things to rights, sending the onlookers back to their cigars and drinks and berating the elves for attacking one of Cygnus' daughters, promising to take up the matter with the owners of the clubs. The whole scene had become loud and boisterous, the gossip from the balcony and the wails of the elves, some who punished themselves, ruining the usual calm, silent quality of the club. This is not what Abraxas had in mind when he thought about a morning at the club.

'Mother, has had an accident, father,' said Bella, in between sobs, 'she collapsed and won't wake up, we tried everything, Narcissa even called a Healer, but I had to get you.'

'You did the right thing, dear,' said Cygnus, mortified at the thought. His wife was not feeling well for the past week but she said it was nothing. 'Let's go. Abraxas…'

'No worries, I will handle matters here,' said Abraxas, waving off the apology, 'go home and be with your wife.' Abraxas then turned towards the elves, snapping at them to stop staring and clean up the place.

'Your wife has suffered a mild heart attack, Lord Black,' said the Healer, finishing casting his diagnosis charms. 'I have stabilised her heart, but it is essential that she does not come under a lot of stress in the coming months.'

'A heart attack?' said Cygnus, 'how can a mere heart attack hurt a witch.'

'It seems your wife has a frail constitution, Lord Black,' said the Healer, then quickly catching up to his mistake tried to sweeten the facts, 'I mean no disrespect, but she needs to rest for a few months. Have her subject to no undue stress or physical strain.'

'Certainly,' said Cygnus, 'Famulus will handle your payment.'

'That won't be necessary Lord Black,' said the Healer.

'Yes it will,' snapped Cygnus, 'you have done me a great favour and I always repay my debts. I cannot stress the importance of maintaining your silence about this matter.'

'Of course, Lord Black,' said the Healer, taking the offered sack of Galleons, 'discretion is one of the pillars of my profession.'

'Narcissa, Bella, I need you to stay with your mother,' said Cygnus, once he had exited the master bedroom, leaving Druella to sleep. 'I have some business to take care of.' He added nastily.

Just then, Famulus had appeared at the top of the stairs.

'Master, Masters Orion, Walpurga and Alphard are downstairs,' said the elf.

'Dear Jupiter, did the entire world hear about this,' said Cygnus, 'then again a lot of people saw the scene at the club.'

'I apologize father,' said Bella, looking downcast.

'Nonsense, Bella, you did the right thing,' said Cygnus, 'they were bound to hear sooner or later.'

Cygnus, followed by Narcissa and Bellatrix went downstairs to greet his brother and sister and her husband. Andromeda was noticeably absent.

'Oh, Cygnus, we came as soon as we heard,' said Walpurga, rushing to embrace her brother, 'we left Sirius and Regulus in Kreacher's care. Is Druella all right?'

'She is indeed,' said Cygnus, kissing his sister's cheek, then shaking the hands of her husband and his brother Alphard. 'It is good you came, though, she might like your company once she wakes up.'

'What happened?' asked Orion.

'I wasn't here, you have to ask Narcissa and Bellatrix about that,' said Cygnus, now excuse me I have some business to take care of.

'Business,' shrilled Walpurga, 'how can you take care of business when your wife is bedridden?'

'It is related to my wife,' added Cygnus, cryptically, 'Famulus, have you summoned the House Guards.'

'Yes, Master, they await you outside.'

'The House Guards, Cyngus?' asked Alphard, 'please don't do anything foolish.'

Cygnus scoffed and exited the house. His House Guards awaited him, with grim faces. On his signal they Disapparated towards the Ministry. The crowds parted to allow Lord Black, followed by hid guards, as he made his way towards the office of Magical Law Enforcement.

'Cygnus, to what do I owe the pleasure?'

'I need several things from you Barty,' said Cygnus, 'as you have undoubtedly heard, my wife has fallen ill. What you don't know is that my daughter Andromeda has been befuddled by some mudblood, Ted Tonks. I need you to give me his location and a squadron of Aurors to apprehend him.'

'Cygnus, calm down,' said Barty, alarmed, 'we can't arrest a student on a mere statement.'

'Are you questioning my honour, Barty,' said Cygnus, drawing closer, 'Do you forget who I am?'

'No, Cygnus, I am not, but there are rules to be followed,' said Barty, refusing to be intimidated. 'I won't give you a single Auror. What you do with your guards is your business, but I won't have my Aurors involved in this.'

'At least give me his address,' said Cygnus, 'I won't involve you in this, but tell me where I can find the damned mudblood.'

'I can't even help you with this,' said Barty, alarmed as Cygnus seemed to lose his temper, 'He has been hidden by Dumbledore.'

'Dumbledore,' crunched Cygnus, 'I knew he must have a hand in this.'

Without another word, Cygnus turned around, walking out of the Ministry to the Apparition point. Mere seconds later, they appeared in front of the gates of Hogwarts grounds. After arguing with a half breed that said he can't let him pass, Cygnus threatened to have him arrested and simply walked past the half giant. The few remaining students, together with the Professors sat at one table, in the Great Hall. The doors burst open, as Cygnus, together with his House Guards burst in the chamber.

'Lord Black, we did not expect your visit,' said Dumbledore, standing up, unaffected. Cygnus ignored him completely, his voice raging in the large chamber.

'Which one of you is Tonks,' spat Cygnus. One of the students chocked on his drink, a fact which did not escape Cygnus, as he drew his wand, followed by his guards and moved towards him. Dumbledore quickly drew his wand, and followed by McGonagall, Flitwick and Sprout interposed themselves between the shaking Ted Tonks and the furious Cygnus Black.

'Move out of the way Dumbledore,' said Cygnus, 'now is not the time to debate mudblood rights.'

'Lord Black, Mr. Tonks is a student of mine,' said Dumbledore calmly, laying a hand on his shoulder, 'as Headmaster, one of my main duties is to protect my students, regardless of their purity.'

Cygnus was a very powerful wizard, confident in his abilities. Unlike his friend, Abraxas, however, he did not have that supreme arrogance. He knew Dumbledore could wipe the floor with him and his guards. Some of his guards seemed to have that belief as well, as they retreated slightly towards the door, their élan left for better days.

'This isn't over, Dumbledore,' said Cygnus, putting his wand away, 'you have made an enemy of me today.'

'I hope not, Lord Black,' replied Dumbledore, in a grandfatherly tone, 'I hope you realize that you were in the wrong and we can work on pleasant terms.'

'Boy, if I find you near my daughter again, I will kill you with my own wand,' said Cygnus, causing Tonks to turn white and attempt to be swallowed by the floor.

'There is no need for threats, Lord Black,' said Dumbledore, 'young love should be cherished, not stamped out.'

'I am not in the mood to debate with you,' said Cygnus, 'Horace, I am disappointed in you. How could you have allowed this to happen?'

'Cygnus, old friend, I didn't know, I swear,' said Slughorn, putting both his hands up. Cygnus looked suspicious, but did remark that Horace had remained seated, not joining either Dumbledore or himself. It was in his character to remain neutral, but at least he had not gone against him. With a last glance at the stunned audience, Cygnus stormed out of the Great Hall, followed by his guards.

Dumbledore tried to calm down the audience, some of whom were terrified, and then called Ted Tonks to his office. The mudblood appeared even more scared now, than he did when facing his death, but he meekly followed the Headmaster to the gargoyle that guarded his office.

'Now, Mr. Tonks, please be seated,' said Dumbledore, indicating a stuffed armchair from across the table, 'would you like some tea, a lemon drop?'

'No, thank you,' said Tonks, his voice quivering.

'I insist, it will calm you down,' said Dumbledore, flicking his wand, summoning a kettle of tea from his private kitchen and a bowl of lemon drops. Tonks obliged the headmaster.

'While Lord Black holds some views that I don't agree with, he never attacks someone without reason,' said Dumbledore, 'do you know what reason he might have to try and attack you?'

'Err, this is rather embarrassing, sir,' said Ted Tonks.

'Mr. Tonks, I was young once too,' said Dumbledore, 'if you don't tell me I can't help you.' Tonks made up his mind. The headmaster was the only friend he had in this wizarding world. Well the only friend who could help him, anyhow.

'I am dating Andromeda Black,' said Tonks, glad to have gotten the secret of his chest.

'Highly unusual, but not unheard of,' said Dumbledore, 'that isn't a reason for Lord Black to try to kill you.' An uncomfortable pause in speech caused Tonks to redden and try to continue.

'I have also slept with his daughter, sir,' said Tonks, each word coming out with great difficulty.

'Even more unusual, as well as against the school rules,' critiqued Dumbledore, 'but I was never one to stand against young love. There must be more, however.'

'She is pregnant,' admitted Tonks. 'We decided to keep the child.' Even Dumbledore remained shocked at the statement.

'Mr. Tonks, you do realise that this is perhaps the highest offence you could do to Lord Black,' said Dumbledore, 'Dear Jupiter, what were you thinking, boy?'

'Sir, I didn't, I couldn't…' Tonks appeared ready to cry.

Dumbledore was also beginning to be annoyed. Had the boy no spine whatsoever? Scolding himself for these unkind thoughts, he made up his mind.

'Do not worry, Mr. Tonks, I will help you and young Miss Black,' said Dumbledore.

'You will, sir?' Tonks broke out in a smile, through his cries, then begun to thank the headmaster profusely.

After all, Lord Black, with his friends Lord Malfoy and Lord Lestrange had thwarted him often enough in the House. Perhaps it was the time for the wheel of fate to turn around slightly. Dumbledore smiled, then begun to detail the arrangement to the boy.

* * *

Igor had proven his usefulness once again. Following his proud announcement to the world of Lord Voldemort's triumph against the Werewolves, he had received countless owls from admirers, various business groups that wanted to make donations and wizards willing to make a difference. It was this last group that Voldemort was interested in, and the reason he had left his lair this late at night.

After consulting with the excruciatingly detailed list he had created of the wizarding world, and after several checks into the history of those who appeared interested, Igor had gathered a group in an abandoned temple, from a golden age of past times.

'When is he going to come?' said a short, squat looking woman, who was sitting alongside her very similar brother.

'The Dark Lord appears at his leisure,' snapped Igor Karkaroff, enjoying the looks of fright on the faces of the two. 'Or are you having second thoughts Alecto?'

'I am not scared of you, Igor,' snapped Alecto, supported by her brother.

'Be silent,' hissed a tall man, resting on the collapsed statue of the ancient god.

'So high and mighty, are you Dolohov?' said Amycus 'Think you're so much better than us?'

'He is indeed superior,' drawled Yaxley, standing up and joining his friend. 'I think we can agree on that.' Travers and Wilkes added their bulk to the threatening pose the two friends were striking at the Carrows. Igor moved to berate them for fighting amongst themselves, but did not get the chance, as the sound of bronze on marble signified the arrival of their master.

Lord Voldemort flicked his wand at the partially unhinged bronze doors of the temple, the scratch they made on the marble door alerting the grumbling wizards inside of his presence. Wishing to make a good opinion, Alecto and Amycus threw themselves at the ground instantly.

'Rise you fools,' hissed Lord Voldemort, 'I have House Elves to bow before me, I don't need these pathetic displays of servitude.'

Confused, Amycus helped his sister up, losing some of the confidence they had previously held at the harsh rebuttal.

'All of you,' said Lord Voldemort grandiosely, raising both his arms in the air, 'Let this be a lesson for you, one of many that I will teach you. I have no need for mindless service. I need the strongest, the most willing, the _pure_.'

'Master,' said Igor, with a slight bow of his head, 'they are gathered.'

'So I see,' replied Lord Voldemort, with a slight irony, causing Igor to flinch. 'Gentlemen,' Lord Voldemort looked at Alecto, '_and lady_, you have all heard of me. I do not know you, and I do not like to be kept in the dark. Igor, where are your manners. Please introduce us.'

'Certainly, my lord,' said Igor, now back on the familiar ground, 'This is Antonin Dolohov, pureblood. He has heard of your crusade, and wishes to sign on.'

'Does he now?' inquired Lord Voldemort, staring him in the eyes. 'Antonin, for what reason do you wish to join me?'

'To cleanse our world, my lord,' replied Dolohov striking a martial pose.

'Certainly there must be more,' said Lord Voldemort, 'no man fights only for an ideal. Everyone puts himself above the interests of others.' Dolohov seemed to be perplexed for a moment.

'Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, for he always knows,' said the Dark Lord eerily.

'I have heard that you reward those deemed worthy,' said Antonin Dolohov, 'I had my eyes set on a post in the Ministry.'

'Prove yourself worthy, and it shall be yours,' replied Lord Voldemort, moving to his friend Yaxley.

And so the initiation ceremony went. Lord Voldemort went to each person, who under the Dark Lord's innerving gaze spilled their innermost desires. Lord Voldemort promised rewards for all those he deemed worthy.

* * *

Walpurga had stayed with Druella the entire day, while Cygnus had stormed out of the house. As he had returned, downcast and furious, she had sent her husband home to take care of their children, but remained. Cygnus seemed in no position to stay with his wife, currently threatening death to the mudblood and his entire family. Narcissa had told her the story. Walpurga was shocked. Andromeda had always been rather different, but they always assumed it was a rebellious phase she was going through. Having a little fun before your marriage was frowned upon, but Jupiter knew Walpurga herself had certainly not entered Orion's bed a virgin.

Getting pregnant while in your sixth year, with a mudblood no less, was worse than murder for a daughter of one of the great houses. And the uncouth way she had handled her mother that Walpurga could not forgive. She was the sister Walpurga never had.

When they were young they used to spend days on end travelling, exasperating their husbands, by dragging them through Lutetia, Hesperides. All that had to change when Druella got pregnant with Bellatrix, of course, but the two sisters in law had remained close. She had always had a rather frosty relation with Andromeda, Bellatrix being her favourite niece. Now, she wanted nothing to do with her. In fact, she did not even go see her niece since she had arrived. Nobody had.

Cygnus had finished his ramblings, and had finally come up to see his wife.

'Have you seen Andromeda?' asked Cygnus, speaking softly so as to not wake up his wife.

'No,' replied Walpurga, standing up, stretching slightly. She had grown stiff watching over Druella. 'Nor do I want to. Honestly, that girl has not an ounce of sense in her. Thankfully Narcissa and Bella have turned out all right.'

'She is just misguided, Walpurga,' said Cygnus, although the argument appeared weaker even to himself every time he repeated it.

'Well, I won't tell you how to raise your child, Cygnus,' said Walpurga, 'but something must be done. I know you are soft with your children, too soft I always said, but you can't close your eyes to this.'

'That is why I came to see you,' said Cygnus, 'She isn't in her room. I thought you knew where she was.'

'No, I haven't even seen her,' said Walpurga, her voice cutting off. It could be seen that they were related, as the same thought seem to pass through Cygnus' mind.

Cygnus, followed by Walpurga ran to Narcissa's room.

'Cissy, do you have any idea where Andromeda is?' asked Cygnus, slightly out of breath.

'No, I don't,' said Narcissa, 'I haven't seen her, since, well, since mother…' Narcissa left the sentence hanging. 'You don't think she has?'

'Famulus!' snapped Cygnus. The elf appeared instantly, staring up at its master with slightly unfocused eyes.

'Where is Andromeda elf?' asked Walpurga.

'Andromeda?' said Famulus, swinging slightly, 'Famulus, knows no Andromeda. Who is mistress Walpurga speaking of?'

'_Finite Incantatem!' _Cygnus pointed his wand at the elf, casting the spell. The elf's posture changed instantly, going from drunken stupor to frantic panic.

'Master, I tried to tell you, I couldn't,' babbled the normally distinguished elf.

'What, tell me what?' said Cygnus, miserably, already knowing the answer.

'Young Misstress Andromeda has left Ravensden with all her belongings. Famulus tried to stop her, but he, err-, something happened.'

'You were confounded, Famulus,' explained Cygnus, his voice defeated.

* * *

Snowflakes had begun to fall as Andromeda Apparated at Hogwarts. It was the sole place she knew where she would get shelter and help. Plus, Ted had remained there over the holydays. She was greeted at the gate by the half giant that ran the grounds.

'Hagrid, isn't it?' asked Andromeda, comfortably warm in the fur robes she was wearing, despite the howling wind and snowfall outside.

'Yes, Miss Black,' said Hagrid, 'how can I help you?'

'You can start by never calling me by that name again,' spat Andromeda, then softening her voice, 'please, I need to see Headmaster Dumbledore.'

'Yes, he said you might show up,' said Hagrid, abandoning the stack of wood he was carrying, 'follow me young Miss Bl-, Miss Andromeda.'

Despite all the heating charms woven in the fur robes, Andromeda began to feel a little chill and was definitely grateful for the warmth of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Even better than the warmth produced by the gigantic fireplace was the sight of Ted Tonks, talking with Headmaster Dumbledore.

'Ted,' she cried, and ran into his arms. Tonks looked surprised to see her here, a dumb look on his face for several seconds, until his mind decided he did not care why Andromeda was here and he hugged her back.

'Miss Black, welcome back to Hogwarts,' said Dumbledore, a small smile on his face. Young love was to be cherished after all. And young love that paid Lord Black back was to be cherished even more.


	9. Traditions and Rituals

**A/N: This chapter seems even to me rather out of tone compared to the rest of the story thus far. In the initial plan chapters 8 and 9 were only one chapter. I had split them because it was too long. Still, there are some things that must be done and this chapter contains them. There are some new elements introduced, as well as taking a shot at a character. Still, do not be discouraged, this is merely the calm before the storm. It will be many months before our characters will have such peaceful moments again. If they ever will…**

**On a happy note, the story has exceeded 100 pages. Rejoice!**

Narcissa was just adding the final touches to her appearance, as the clock struck the sixth hour. After much deliberation it was determined that the Blacks would make an appearance to the Ministry Ball after all. It would silence the gossipers and proclaim to the world that nothing could stop the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.

To say that their reputation was not affected by Andromeda's betrayal would have been a lie. Hushed voices and gossip was not something Narcissa was used to seeing directed at her. Yet, since the unfortunate events with their mother, as well as her father bursting into Hogwarts and being stopped by Dumbledore that was all she seemed to be getting, whenever she left Ravensden.

Witches who would not have dared raised their eyes towards a Black now pointed and hushed their voices wherever Narcissa went. Frankly, she had had enough. Certainly, the special report the Daily Prophet had run on the event did not help matters. The next day the Director of the Daily Prophet was sacked with no job prospects to look at from any major newspapers. One did not trifle with the Blacks and come unscathed out of it. What could be done to contain the matter had been done.

Still, the Blacks would go to the Ball with their heads held high and no mention of Andromeda would be tolerated. In their eyes, she had ceased to exist. Druella could not attend the ball, although she insisted she was fine. She had woken up the day after her heart attack, but she did not know of Andromeda's departure or Cygnus' actions yet. To protect her from any undue shock the House Elves and the various Wizarding staff were forbidden to even mention Andromeda around their Mistress. Although she had conceded that she would have to stay at Ravensden, she did not want to hear any suggestion that someone stayed with her.

'I am not a child, Cygnus,' said Druella, 'I can take care of myself perfectly well. I insist you all go and enjoy yourselves.'

'I will make an appearance,' said Cygnus, 'but I won't stay long.'

'Very well, darling.'

Bellatrix had hardened towards her sister and even the slightest mention of Andromeda would be enough to send her into an uncontrollable rage. Narcissa outwardly appeared calm, but inside she was frightened to no extent. Humiliation was not something the Blacks were used to. The lavishly appointed carriage that pulled up in front of Ravensden, bearing the coat of arms of the House of Malfoy was the sign that life went on.

'Mistress, Master Malfoy has arrived,' said Famulus, bowing down to the floor, 'He told me to let you know he awaits you at your leisure.'

'Thank you, Famulus,' said Narcissa, checking herself in the mirror once more, to make sure.

'You look fabulous my dear,' said the mirror, beaming with happiness, 'Lucius is going to have trouble keeping his hands to himself tonight. Who knows? Perhaps he will invite you afterwards for a drink at his house.'

'Has anyone told you how perverse your thinking is, mirror?' said Narcissa.

'Once, by your mother. Three times by your grandmother Irma. Twice by your Aunt Walpurga, although she secretly enjoyed it. Your great-grandmother Violetta threatened to have me replaced, although her husband forbid it,' said the mirror, 'now that I think about it even Elladora, and then there is Ursula Flint and...'

'All right, all right,' said Narcissa, 'If they haven't managed, who am I to try to change you.'

'A most wise course of action, Narcissa,' said the mirror pompously, looking rather smug.

'Although perhaps I want to go for after drinks with Lucius,' added Narcissa, just as she was exiting her room.

'Narcissa!' yelled the mirror, 'why I never knew it. We are one and the same. Have a nice evening dear.'

'Thank you, I will.'

Lucius had been greeted at the door by the Chief House Elf, but had been shortly after monopolized by Cygnus.

'Come, Lucius, let us have a drink,' said Cygnus, politely, but firmly inviting him to the drawing room. Never one to lose his calm in a situation, his courage supplemented by the near Olympian arrogance of the Malfoy family, Lucius followed him to the drawing room.

'To your wife's health, sir,' said Lucius, raising his glass slightly.

'To her health,' added Cygnus, before draining his glass. 'This is rather related to her health, actually.'

'If there is anything we can do, to help, I am sure father would be most delighted to,' said Lucius.

'Much obliged, Lucius,' said Cygnus, 'Abraxas has already made the offer, but I assure you it won't be needed. Now, I have always prided myself in the liberty I have given my daughters. Perhaps that was the wrong course to take, considering, but still I have faith in Narcissa and Bellatrix.'

'You have two perfect daughters, sir,' said Lucius.

'Truer words have never been spoken, Lucius,' said Cygnus, 'I have _two _daughters. I don't mean to be unkind or rude, but words of your reputation have reached even my ears.' Lucius had the decency to lower his eyes for a second, but had quickly recovered, raising his head once more.

'I ensure you that my reputation…' started Lucius, before being cut off making him slightly unnerved, as he was used to being listened to, not interrupted.

'There is no need to hide behind our fingers Lucius,' said Cygnus, 'what is between you and my daughter is your business, not mine. All I ask is that you give me your word that no matter what, you will treat her with respect.'

'I give you my word as a pureblood that I hold nothing but the highest respect, admiration and affection for Narcissa,' said Lucius, just as Narcissa entered the room. She was gracious enough not to inquire as to their discussion, although Lucius' proclamation did bring a smile onto her face.

'That is all I wanted Lucius,' said Cygnus, 'now I believe I have suddenly become superfluous. I will leave you two. Darling, do you promise to reserve a dance for your old father as well?'

'You're not that old, daddy,' said Narcissa, 'and I will always have a dance for you.'

'See you at the Ministry,' said Cygnus, walking out of the drawing room.

'Lucius', said Narcissa standing up on her toes and giving him a chaste kiss on the lips.

'Narcissa, you look lovely my dear,' said Lucius, moving away and making a show of admiring her.

'Thank you,' said Narcissa, 'You look very good as well.'

'Shall we go?' asked Lucius, offering his arm. Narcissa took his arm, then followed him to the carriage, laughing at a joke he had made.

Cygnus was looking from a window at the two. Narcissa certainly seemed happy enough for him to not worry and Abraxas' son while known as a womanizer was a man of his word. One thing seemed to bother him, but he could not realize why. Perhaps he was getting old. After all, it was the first ball where he would go by himself, while his daughters both had dates. He definitely would not stay long though, with Druella home alone. Just as his eyes followed the carriage, another intersected its path, the two stopping on the road. The window opened, and Cygnus could see Rodolphus' head, chatting with Lucius and Narcissa.

'Famulus,' said Cygnus.

'Master called,' said the elf.

'Go announce Bellatrix that Rodolphus has arrived.'

Bellatrix was of course not ready and yelled at the elf to stop bothering her if he enjoyed all his limbs attached the way they were. Rodolphus laughed as he heard her shout at the top of the lungs.

'You'll have to excuse Bellatrix,' said Cygnus, 'she gets rather angry when rushed.'

'Oh no, sir, I enjoy it,' said Rodolphus. Cygnus could not see how, but then he had Druella for comparison, who had not lost her temper once in their marriage.

'Actually sir, this is rather convenient,' said Rodolphus, 'if I may have a word.'

'Of course, Rodolphus, speak your mind,' said Cygnus.

'I would rather we spoke in private, sir,' said Rodolphus.

'Of course, follow me to the study,' said Cygnus, leading the way.

Once they were seated, Rodolphus revealed the reason for privacy.

'Sir, I wanted to ask your daughter's hand in marriage,' said Rodolphus. Frankly, despite all his wife's suspicions of the two, this is not what he had in mind when Rodolphus wanted to speak to him in private. His silence seemed to make Rodolphus rather uncomfortable.

'I apologize, Rodolphus, you just took me by surprise,' said Cygnus, 'are you sure? Isn't it rather rushing things? You have the rest of your life to live. You don't need to get engaged straight out of Hogwarts.'

'Sir, I am determined to marry your daughter,' said Rodolphus, 'and I don't see the advantage of waiting several more years.'

'Do you have your father's permission?' asked Cygnus.

'He said he would be delighted to unite our families,' said Rodolphus.

'Very well, you're a good man Rodolphus, I trust you,' said Cygnus, 'you have my permission. Although you must understand, the decision is ultimately Bella's.'

'I wouldn't have it any other way, sir,' said Rodolphus, 'I plan to ask her tonight after the ball.'

'Rodolphus? Daddy?' Bella's voice could be heard even through the double doors of Cygnus' study.

'That would be my daughter looking for you,' said Cygnus, 'you children go, I will come later.'

'Are you sure you don't want to come with us, sir?' asked Rodolphus, 'there is plenty of room in the carriage.'

'I am sure you don't want your girlfriend's father on the carriage ride to the Ministry,' said Cygnus, 'I definitely didn't. Plus I have to keep my horses active.'

'Very well,' said Rodolphus, grinning, 'I don't think it's a good idea to keep Bella waiting any longer.'

'Probably not,' remarked Cygnus, dismissing Rodolphus. Dear Merlin, if there were to be any more announcements regarding his daughters today he would start feeling as old as Dumbledore. Cygnus locked his study then went upstairs to finish dressing and take his goodbyes from his wife.

This part of the Ministry of Magic complex was the oldest wing, predating even the noble ancestries of the purest of families. In a time when Muggles were struggling with the Dark Ages, advancement stifled, the Warlock Council of Britain was passing through a Golden Age, a Renaissance of Power. It was at that time that the Old Hall was built. Ironically, once completed it was deigned the New Hall, but with the construction of the Palace of Lords and the addition of the underground wing of the Ministry, the naming changed.

Nowadays the Grand Ballroom of the Old Hall was used sparsely, mostly as a place to keep relics of better times and for state occasions. Still, the Christmas Ministry Ball was one of the occasions when the doors of the Old Hall would be opened, the dust cleansed by hand, so as to not affect the aging spells used in the construction and invitations would be sent out to the prominent members of society.

The First Auror Regiment, whose duties included guarding the Palace, Ministry, and the various state officials, were posted at the doors, dressed in Parade Robes, at the gates and along the Alley that led up to the Old Hall. The revelry and festive atmosphere showed that the Magical society was not willing to succumb to fear and would ensure that millennia old traditions continued unhindered. Still, a practical wizard, Barty Crouch had also deployed the Second Auror Regiment, lacking the pomp and heraldry of the First, being dressed in plain robes, but just as effective with a wand, if not more so.

A carriage bearing the coat of arms of the House of Malfoy made its way down the Alley, crossing under the gate unobstructed, rounding off at the fountain. An Auror opened the door, allowing Lucius Malfoy to exit. The Auror bowed slightly, as Lucius extended a gloved hand to help Narcissa Black to descend. The second Narcissa's golden locks could be seen, reporters swarmed the couple, each trying to get the best shot of the young couple. After all, the Ministry Ball special edition papers sold extremely well.

Lucius and Narcissa paused for a few seconds, smiling at the cameras, while Lucius subconsciously pulled Narcissa a bit closer to himself. As he saw the second carriage entering the gate from the corner of his eye, not wishing to stand outside anymore, he made a discreet signal to the Auror who waited patiently next to him.

'All right, gentlemen and ladies,' said the Auror, moving to clear a path through the crowd, 'allow Mr. Malfoy and Miss Black to pass.'

The reporters moved aside respectfully, although a few brave souls did try to ask the two some questions. The Auror did not intervene, but at the first mention of "Andromeda Black" he had called for the other Auror Guards and they formed a cordon to allow the young couple to pass.

'Thank you,' said Lucius, as they passed the Auror Guard.

'Just doing my duty, young sir,' replied the Auror, bowing his head slightly.

Lucius could not help but fell pride as he walked down the path towards the Old Hall, Narcissa Black at his arm, flanked by statues of the great wizards of ancient times- Great Aurors, Important Ministers, Majestic Lords. What were the wizards of today compared to their glorious ancestors? The truly great ones held a place of Honour inside the Entrance Hall.

A raised platform held the statues of the Four Founders of Hogwarts at its corners. The statues themselves were magnificent, sculpted by the great Midas himself in the finest marble. Even in death, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, Godric Gryffindor and the greatest of them, according to Lucius, Salazar Slytherin, guarded their magical brethren.

Out of habit, Lucius raised his eyes to the domed ceiling. The original ceiling was, sadly, lost in the Goblin rebellion of 1058. An illustration still existed in the History books, although it was of poor quality. The fresco had been destroyed as the Goblins sallied out of Gringotts and set fire to the Old Hall. They were beaten back, but the damage was irreparable. The domed ceiling had been left unpainted until the disbanding of the Warlock Council in 1102 and the establishment of the Lords of the Realm. From then on it bore the coat of arms of each of the Great Noble Houses, actualized to date as certain families were extinguished and others were elevated to the nobility.

The statues of the Four Founders were, also added at a later day, however. The one statue that had been there since the construction of the Old Hall stood in an alcove at the far wall. Although of a lesser quality of execution than the four founders, it was one of the most prized possessions of Magical England. It depicted an old warlock, wearing a hooded cloak and robes, with a tall staff and a beard that reached halfway down his chest. An inscription had been added on the pedestal.

'_Merlinus __Aeternae Gloriae'_

As was the custom, Lucius and Narcissa made their way towards the statue of Merlin, made the short bow and only after that continued their way to the Grand Ballroom to the right.

The Ballroom in itself was a magnificent sight. Its opulence could not be compared to the Palace of the Lords, but it held a special place in the hearts of every witch and wizard present.

The walls were decorated with frescoes detailing the History of Magical Britain. The fall of Rome to the barbarian tribes, the Flight to Britannia, the struggle between Merlin and Morgan Le Fay, the death of Merlin, the Construction of Hogwarts. All these glorious scenes reminded the audience of the burden of history on their shoulders, and proclaimed to the visiting dignitaries the proud history of Magical Britain.

The ballroom was half full by now, and although Lucius and Narcissa were amongst the first guests of status, they were still fashionably late. It seemed like it took ages to cross the Ballroom as several people wanted to exchange a word or two with the young couple.

'Do you ever wonder how we know all these people?' whispered Narcissa after meeting with what seemed the fifth business owner of the day.

'I stopped wondering a long time ago,' shrugged Lucius, 'they know us, but I certainly don't know them.'

'That's not what I meant, Lucius,' said Narcissa, 'of course they know us, but some even seemed to have the impression we knew them.'

'Deluded illusions of grandeur from their part my dear,' said Lucius, 'nothing to worry about.'

'Why, Lucius, since when have I become your dear,' asked Narcissa, flirtatiously. Lucius lowered his head to her ear and whispered something that made Narcissa blush.

'You know, you could let me have the upper hand once,' said Narcissa using her handkerchief to dab at her face, until her face stopped burning.

'Perhaps, but I like it when you try,' said Lucius, 'if I did you may stop trying. Now there is someone at least worthy to meet.'

Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold was currently making her way through the crowd towards the two. Lucius bowed his head slightly.

'Lucius Malfoy,' said the Minister, 'and Narcissa Black, what a pleasure to see you both.'

'The pleasure is entirely ours, Minister,' said Narcissa. 'How are you tonight?'

'Very good, I am glad the Ball has finally started,' said Millicent, 'I did try to have Cornelius organize it this year, but the poor dear is terrible at such things, so I had to step in. It has been one hectic month, I tell you. All these foreign dignitaries too!'

'A pity, Minister,' said Lucius, 'the Minister of Magic should not have to bother herself with such details. You certainly deserve better staff.'

'Was that a job request, Lucius?' said Milicent.

'No, Minister, I am afraid I will have to refuse,' said Lucius, 'thank you for the offer, though.' Millicent laughed, although it was somewhat stretched thin.

'What can we expect from you this coming year, Lucius?' asked the Minister.

'I can't say,' said Lucius, 'I must keep my mysterious air about me.'

'Well, whatever it is, I am sure it will keep you busy and satisfied,' said Millicent, 'but I am afraid I am cutting in on Narcissa's time. Enjoy yourselves, dears.'

'Strange,' said Lucius, looking at the Minister's retreating back.

'Why so?' asked Narcissa, slowly stirring Lucius towards a séparée in the back of the ballroom.

'The Minister, she seemed rather chatty, didn't she?' said Lucius.

'She was scared,' said Narcissa, 'she must feel that she is losing support, so she seeks future allies. The Malfoy heir would certainly be a powerful political ally in the future.'

'Narcissa, I never knew you followed politics,' teased Lucius, 'what would your father say?'

'I don't follow politics,' said Narcissa, 'I merely keep myself interested of current events.'

'No matter, I rather like it,' said Lucius, smiling at her.

'Lucius Malfoy,' said a tall man, wearing white robes, approaching Narcissa and him.

'I am sorry, sir, I don't think we have met,' said Lucius, mildly intrigued, 'Narcissa, do you know him?'

'No I don't think, I do, actually,' said Narcissa, 'and I know anyone who is worth knowing here.'

'Yes, he rather doesn't look like much,' said Lucius, catching on to Cissy's game.

The man was currently getting red faced, but he restrained from causing your scene.

'I am Igor Karkaroff,' said the man, 'now does that settle your concerns?'

'Doesn't ring a bell, I am sorry,' said Lucius, 'what about you Narcissa?'

'I can't say,' said Narcissa, 'the name does ring a bell. Ah, I know, you must be from the press. I am sorry; Lucius and I don't want to give out any interviews right now.'

'I am afraid what Narcissa wants, Narcissa gets, Mr. Karkaroff,' said Lucius, 'good evening.'

Igor Karkaroff was left fuming, having failed his objective for the evening from the beginning. Not to say that he had been mocked by two who were still in Hogwarts. Igor had had contact with Pureblood nobility before, but hanging with the disgruntled sons of minor lords at questionable locals did not prepare one for meeting with the Blacks or the Malfoys.

'Now while I admit I enjoyed that,' said Narcissa, 'why did we antagonize the man?'

'The name Igor Karkaroff does ring a bell,' admitted Lucius, 'but not one I am interested in. He is connected to Lord Voldemort.'

As they sat down, finally after having spoken to half the ballroom, Bella and Rodolphus entered the chamber. The crowd seemed to animate again, and soon a barrier of enthusiastic witches and wizards separated the four. Rodolphus, less tactful than Lucius, made his way through the crowd, repeating the same phrases, "A pleasure to see you too, Please excuse me, I really must be going". They had left behind a crowd of offended witches and wizards, but had crossed the crowd in record time.

'Cissy, dear Merlin, it's been ages since I last saw you,' said Bella, as she was sitting down.

'I know,' said Narcissa, 'you look lovely. You must come over for tea some time.'

Rodolphus and Lucius exchanged confused glances, but passed it off as a Black eccentricity.

'Private joke,' said Narcissa, 'perhaps I will share it with you one day.'

'Keep your secrets if you must,' said Lucius dramatically, 'now does anyone want anything to drink?'

'I think I have a better idea,' said Narcissa, as the orchestra started playing Dyonia's "Flight from Rome",'dance with me, please.'

'Certainly', said Lucius, 'if the Miss wishes it.'

The slow dance was considered a necessity for every single important gathering, and was a favourite with British witches and wizards, regardless of age. Both Lucius, whose mother greatly enjoyed dancing, and Narcissa, whose father had given her a dance instructor on her 12th birthday, were excellent dancers. The audience was dazzled as the couples moved in perfect synchrony with the music.

'They make quite a pair, don't they?' asked Bella, looking at her sister and Lucius.

'Not as good as us,' said Rodolphus, earning himself a smile.

Abraxas and Cygnus entered the ballroom, saluted the children, and left to be with Dimitry and his wife, leaving the children alone.

The spirit of revelry was in the air, banishing away all worries their world had for one night at least. Every single witch and wizard seemed to enjoy themselves, laughing, flirting, dancing and drinking. Barty Crouch was still suspiciously patrolling the grounds with the Aurors, exiting the Ballroom every half an hour to ensure that the order was being maintained, but none seemed to notice his absence.

Even Abraxas had a good time, drinking with his friends and speaking of their youth. Cygnus had excused himself, saying he had to go home to Druella and after taking his goodbyes from the children had left for Ravensden. Dimitry, who had had perhaps a little too much wine had invited his wife for a walk outside to clear his head. Abraxas was left alone in the Ballroom. Just as he was about to go join some fellow Lords across the chamber, a young girl came towards him.

'Lord Malfoy, I have been dying to meet you,' said a young girl, perhaps only a year older than his own son.

'I don't think I've had the pleasure, Miss?' replied Abraxas.

'Giulia Zabini, Lord Malfoy,' said the girl.

'Ah, you must be the daughter of Ambassador Zabini,' said Abraxas, kissing Giulia's outstretched hand. 'How are you enjoying dreary old England?'

'I am delighted to be here,' said Giulia, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously, 'Italy has become so provincial lately.'

'We're glad to be your hosts, Miss Zabini,' said Abraxas.

'This place is magnificent, Lord Malfoy,' said Giulia, gesturing at the ballroom, 'I've been dieing to _sample_ some English hospitality, first hand,' said Giulia, laying a hand on Abraxas' shoulder. 'Perhaps you can show me around?'

'I don't think that would be entirely appropriate, Miss Zabini,' said Abraxas, his eyes searching around for a solution, 'I am sure someone closer to your age, like Rabastan Lestrange could have the honour.'

'Oh, but I've always preferred someone more mature, more…' said Giulia, moving closer to Abraxas. She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence, as her father had shown up. Abraxas' mind was quickly trying to come up with an excuse. It would not do to upset the Italian Ambassador on a mere trifle such as this girl. Thankfully, Ambassador Zabini seemed to know exactly what was going on.

'Giulia,' snapped Zabini, causing her daughter to flinch, 'Lord Malfoy, I hope she was not bothering you.'

'Not at all, Ambassador,' said Abraxas diplomatically, 'we were merely discussing the differences between England and Italy.'

'Giulia, dear, there is someone I want you to meet,' said the Ambassador, laying a hand on her arm and dragging her slightly away from the Malfoy patriarch. Giulia seemed annoyed arguing with her father in rapid Italian, but still found the time to turn around and give Abraxas a saucy wink. Abraxas shook his head slightly, wondering what scandals could be expected from the girl in the future.

Lucius and Rodolphus had a moment to themselves, since Bella and Narcissa had left cryptically to discuss something. Rabastan was currently trying to charm Marie Parkinson, leaving Lucius alone with his friend.

'Have you heard of Lord Voldemort, Lucius?' asked Rodolphus, lowering his voice.

'Who hasn't?' said Lucius, 'I heard there was talk of inviting him to the Ministry Ball to be decorated. Highly unprecedented, you know.'

'I heard things, Lucius, people who have joined him,' said Rodolphus.

'And?' interjected Lucius

'Aren't you even mildly interested?' asked Rodolphus, 'Truthfully, I find he and I agree on a great many things.'

'Don't be foolish Rodolphus,' said Lucius, 'what have we to gain from siding with him? We are already at the tip of the pyramid. We have nothing to gain and potentially much to lose. Who joined him? All the frustrated people in our society. I don't consider myself frustrated or needing social advancement.'

'It would be a glorious thing, Lucius,' said Rodolphus, 'to be out on the frontline, fighting for our world. I don't see myself tied to a desk after finishing Hogwarts.'

'You don't have to, Rodolphus,' said Lucius, 'take Bella, go on a tour of Europe, go visit Egypt, go build a tree house if you want some excitement. But speak no more of this; I am not interested in Lord Voldemort.'

Just then, the ladies had returned, slightly flushed, laughing about something to do with Marie Parkinson. Bella was the first to catch on to the slight chill between Lucius and Rodolphus.

'Have you boys been fighting,' mocked Bella, in a motherly scold, leaning on Rodolphus. Narcissa laughed, grabbing Lucius' arm.

'Merely a difference in opinion, Bella,' said Lucius, 'now what were you ladies doing?'

'Oh, this and that,' said Narcissa, causing Bella to burst into laughter. That seemed to calm things down, as Rodolphus and Lucius shared a briefly annoyed look.

'Well, it is getting rather late,' said Rodolphus, hitting Bella's leg under the table.

'Yes, we really must be going,' said Bellatrix, standing up, taking a quick good bye from Lucius and Narcissa, and then practically running towards their carriage.

'The two are incorrigible,' said Narcissa, 'knowing Bella they are probably dismissing the driver right now and rushing to the Lestrange townhouse.'

'Ah well,' said Lucius, 'what do you want to then?'

'Dismiss the driver and rush to your townhouse,' said Narcissa, standing up. Lucius chuckled slightly, but called for one of the staff to have his carriage pulled upfront.

In fact Bella and Rodolphus had not dismissed the driver. They had not bothered with him, they Apparated directly to the Lestrange townhouse. The driver had remained at the Ministry until the last guest left, spending a rather uncomfortable night on the bench of the carriage.

As Bella and Rodolphus were struggling to undress themselves, Rodolphus, in his inspiration decided it was time to take matters into his own hand. Pulling the engagement ring from where he had fiddled with it all night, in his robes, he got down on one knee. The scene would have been romantic, had Bella not been missing half her clothes and Rodolphus missing various clothing items and his boots.

'Bellatrix, would you do me the honour of marrying me?' said Rodolphus, in all seriousness. Bella smiled, but said nothing. Several minutes passed until Rodolphus' knee began to hurt. Still, he did not get up, or say another word.

'Oh, I guess I can fit it into my schedule,' said Bella, laughing, 'get up you clown.'

Rodolphus had managed to put the ring on her hand, but the precious antique box the ring had come in flew out the window as Bella tackled him to the bed. Suffice to say that they did not get much sleep that night.

The next morning as an old witch got out of her house for her morning walk, she spotted a beautiful box lying on the pavement in front of a large townhouse. Taking it for her needles and threads she continued merrily along her way.

XII


	10. The Irish Affair

A/N: Usual disclaimer applies. As promised, by Friday the story was updated. It might be 23:14, but it is still Friday. Enjoy.

* * *

Magical Britain was one of the few countries that operated an embassy in Ireland. Following the war with the Dark Lord Grindewald, Ireland had declared independence from Britain. British Aurors, exhausted and spent after the Great War, held no desire for another one. One of the points of Dumbledore's reformist platform was the acceptance of Irish Independence. The rest of the international community would not be so kind, and even now, many years after, the International Confederacy of Wizards did not recognize Ireland as a sovereign state.

It should come as no surprise that the Ambassadorial post to Ireland was occupied by a relatively insignificant wizard. Still, Jonah Diggory was content with his life. Of generally a kind nature, the embassy he occupied in the heart of Creidhne was filled with the simple joys in life. The joy of his life, his son Amos, had gone to the prestigious Hogwarts School as most of the well off Irish wizards.

Despite their claim to independence and their general desire that Britain was a far away place they wished little or no contact with, the Irish Magical School was not even used by the Irish themselves. With his son back in England, Jonah and his wife had little to occupy their time. Amos Diggory was currently building himself a career with the Ministry of Magic, but did not wish to join in the Diplomatic Corps as his father. No, Amos Diggory's passions lay with a different style of Diplomacy, as he was currently apprenticing with the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

Still Jonas and his wife supported Amos in whatever action he wanted to take.

Jonas' days were rather bland, being invited but not tolerated at the sessions of the Irish Magi Council. Today's session had been rather forceful, the voices of reasons being drown out by the more boisterous individuals. Ireland needed to assert itself on the international stage they said, we need to be more visible. So far the only visibility Ireland got internationally was through the National Quidditch team. Not that Jonas would ever mention that to the council. Conflict was not in his nature, as Jonas never understood why everyone could not just get along with each other.

Opening the door to the modest house he owned in the northern quarter of Creidhne, he went to his office to write his weekly report of the situation. He would also write a letter to his son Amos. Oh, how he could barely wait until he would see his boy again. Amos had been occupied over Christmas, being in love with some girl and could not come to Creidhne to see his parents. Still, he promised he would make it up to them and come some weekend when he had the chance.

His wife seemed to have had a busy day, mused Jonas, as it was rather late and she was not there. Deciding he would surprise her, after sending the letter to England with the Ministry Owl in the diplomatic pouch, he started to make dinner. Just as he was finishing reading the ingredients list, the door opened.

'Honey is that you?' asked Jonas. No response. Deciding his wife must have gone to drop off her bags and change, he turned up the wireless, twiddling his wand at it until a faint echo of the English post could be heard. Ireland did not yet have any Wizarding Wireless networks, but if one was patient enough they could catch one of the English ones. The quality was not that great, but it was better than silence, Jonas thought.

'As the New Year has come and gone, the witches and wizards of Britain have gone back to their jobs. The Hogwarts Express has taken the children back to Hogwarts. Diagon Alley seems rather bland these days. Even the decorations have started to go down,' said the presenter, 'depressing I tell you. And now, I give you "You make my spell go wrong" by Miranda Celeste, ranked 50th in the charts.'

Jonah smiled. Miranda Celeste might be ranked 50th, but she was one of his favourite singers. His wife liked her. Not as well as she did like Lynch Craviston, but she liked her well enough.

'Dolly, Miranda Celeste is on the Wireless,' shouted Jonas at the top of his voice. He could hear steps outside the door; his wife must have heard him. Finishing the preparation for dinner, he put the tray into the oven, then cast _Inferno_, starting up the flames. Looking at his watch, noting the time was 7:30, in half an hour dinner would be ready.

He wanted to go and change, but oh the chorus was coming, 'Because, you make my spell go wrong, My Heart…' The door suddenly opened, and three masked people walked in. Jonas might have been kind, and generally a mediocre wizard, but he was no imbecile.

'Who are you?' asked Jonas, fingering his wand under his robes, 'what do you want?'

'Isn't it obvious?' said one of the men, his voice muffled by the mask that concealed his features.

'There's nothing of value here,' said Jonas, trying to stall for time. Sadly, since the economic situation in Ireland was not that great, there had been an increase in theft lately. Irish Aurors, were not that efficient or numerous enough to contain them.

'It's not value we're looking for, you English bastard', said one man, advancing with his wand drawn.

'I'm warning you, I was top of my class in Defence Against the Dark Arts,' said Jonas, now shaking slightly.

'May the worms eat you, English, _Crucio!'_ said the wizard who had taken the lead. As the red light hit Jonas, his body began to shake uncontrollably, while his yells could have raised the dead from the grave.

'So the piggy squeals doesn't it?' said the second man. The Cruciatus curse was ended, but the shakes did not. It was hard to say if he was now shaking from fright or from the after effects of the curse, but the result was the same. Jonas dropped his wand, causing much amusement to the three criminals that had broken into his house. Jonas was now defenceless, not that he had had much of a chance before.

'_Diffindo!' _Jonas' torturer slashed his wand diagonally, amputating his left arm with one clean stroke. Suffering from an instant loss in equilibrium, Jonas fell, dragged down by his surviving right arm. Deciding that spell work was no longer satisfactory enough, the three proceeded to kick him, breaking his ribs and disfiguring his jovial face.

'_Crucio!'_ The repeated Cruciatus curse caused even more pain if that were possible, as he flayed around on the floor, one of his broken ribs puncturing his lung. Soon, his breath came in weak rasps, and every scream splashed blood on the white tiles.

'I'll be damned if I'll let this English bastard die by himself,' said one of the accompanying wizards, '_Diffindo!'_ he whispered almost lovingly, slashing his wand through the air, gently. The low powered cutting curse hit Jonas' in the neck, ripping his jugular to shreds. Even more blood came out, if that were possible, and soon the entire floor of the previously spotless small kitchen was covered in Jonas' precious life fluid. Soon, Jonas died, even now not understanding what he had done to the three men to have deserved this. Still, in his defence the Cruciatus had addled his mind slightly.

Not content to lay his body in rest even in death, the Irish wizards proceeded to carve "Stay out of Ireland English!" on Jonas' misshapen chest. One last glance at their work, they left a Leprechaun flag on the kitchen counter.

As they exited the chamber, pushing themselves around, joking and praising themselves about how they made the English scream, the three went to the Pub, intent on drinking themselves into a stupor. A shady character met them there, his face obscured by his hood. In fact, at the first glance, he looked similar to all the other patrons of the dingy pub. A trained eye could see significant differences, however. While all the patrons of the pub were hunched, exhausted from a day's work, the man, for it appeared to be a man, stood a tad straighter, seeming almost arrogant in the run down pub. His drink was still half full, which was a rare occurrence in this Pub, where the alcohol disappeared mere seconds after it was received, used to drown away the miseries of life.

Sadly it also drowned away the precious galleons. Ireland had tried to introduce their own currency, trying hard to get one of the Goblin clans to establish a bank, even going as far as offering unprecedented rights to the goblins, but even now, decades after, the British Galleon, Sickle and Knut was the only accepted currency. The Irish Leprech was only written on Government balance scrolls.

The three wizards walked into the pub, still praising themselves about their deed, although their voices had gone down a bit, not wishing to attract any undue attention. Seeing the hooded man in the corner, they bolted straight for him. The man did not wait for them to speak, but invited them to sit down.

'Is it done?' asked the man.

'Yea, it's done,' replied the lead Irish Wizard.

'Noble sons of Ireland,' exclaimed the man, 'noble heroes. I don't wish to soil your act with galleons, but you deserve a drink after this.' The three Irish wizards hurried to accept the money, ignoring the barb. The man seemed unaffected as he passed a bulging sack of galleons.

'Come on, we're not going to drink, _here_,' said the leader of the small gang. 'Let's go to the fortress and drink there.' He shook the money pouch up and down. His two friends followed him, now walking full with self importance, heading towards the fortified central area of the city.

Leaving a sickle for his unfinished drink, the man walked out of the pub. Once outside, he removed a white mask from his robes. He had caught on with the three only two streets away. Putting the white mask on his face, he followed the three until they reached a darker, filthy but deserted alley.

'_Avada Kedavra!'_ he spoke softly, the twisted green light hitting the Leader in the back, propelling him forward, making him land on his face. If the Killing Curse hadn't killed him, the cobblestone he had cracked his head on would have done the job. The two others, tried to run, but subtlety was abandoned in favour of speed. _'Avada Kedavra!', 'Avada Kedavra!'_ The two spells, cast with an almost inhuman speed ended the life of the two surviving gang members instantly, their bodies sprawling onto the wet cobblestone.

The man proceeded to grab back the sack of galleons, then looked at it suspiciously. _'Scourgify!'_ The spell hit the sack, refreshing it slightly, although it still looked suspicious. Galleons were hard to come by, and he could not be pretentious. Sighing, the man put the sack back into his robes, took off his white mask, then_'Incendio!'_ the magical fire devoured the three bodies quickly, leaving behind fine ash that was blown away by the next gust of wind.

The man looked around one more time in disgust. By Salazar, how he hated Creidhne. His job here finished, he Disapparated for fairer shores.

'My lord, you have returned,' said Igor, 'I was contacted by several more worthy candidates.'

'Excellent, Igor,' said Lord Voldemort, 'we shall have great need of them, very soon.'

Mrs. Diggory had just returned from the town. She had precious friends here, most people being rather hostile to her, for being the Ambassador's wife, but the Chief Healer's wife was one of them. They had stayed up chatting until late, and it appeared Jonas' had burned the dinner again. The man meant well, and Mrs. Diggory thought it very thoughtful of him to cook dinner, even though he was the busy Ambassador and she was the housewife, but he could not cook even if it cost him his life. It seemed he had also left the wireless on.

'Jonas?' said Mrs. Diggory, as she was removing her cloak and hat. No response. 'Jonas dear, are you upstairs?' Deciding she might as well get started on throwing away Jonas' burned dinner and preparing the actual one, she made her way to the kitchen. Merlin, how she wished for a house elf some days. She opened the door to the kitchen, noticing something amiss. An Irish Leprechaun flag was lying haphazardly over the counter. Maybe it was a gift from the Irish Magi Council. As she advanced, she noticed the floor seemed slippery and stickier than usual. Damn it, she had just cleaned it this morning. Couldn't Jonas be more careful when trying to cook dinner?

Looking down to see what he actually spilled, she began to scream. A trail of red led to behind the corner, where her husband was sitting, bloody, naked from the waist up, and the words "Stay out of Ireland English!" carved on his chest. Panicking, she did the first thing she thought of-she Disapparated to England.

Mere second later she had appeared on Government Alley, in front of one of the entrances to the Ministry. She ran inside, grabbing onto the first person she saw. Unluckily for him, it was Barty Crouch.

'Sir, please you have to help me,' screamed the woman.

'Madam, please calm yourself,' said Barty, making a sign for the Auror that guarded the door to come. 'What happened?'

'The Irish,' wailed the woman, 'they'll kill us all, you have to help me. Jonas.' She broke down and cried. Just then Evan Rosier came out of the elevator.

'Have a good weekend, Barty,' said Evan, ignoring the woman in his arms. It was not his place to question what Bartemius Crouch did with women late at the Ministry.

'Come help me,' Barty Crouch asked Evan, 'let's carry her to my office.' Evan was surprised, but he did as he was told. A few negotiated stairs later, Mrs. Diggory laid on the couch in Barty's office, Evan bringing her a glass of water, as Barty and he listened to her tale. Evan was outraged, but Barty had turned on his investigator persona.

'Madam, do you have anyone here in England,' said Barty. Mrs. Diggory managed to respond in between sobs.

'My son Amos, he works at the Ministry.'

'Evan, I need to ask you a favour. Can you escort Mrs. Diggory to her son's house?' said Barty. 'Madam, I need you to remain calm. No one is going to assault you. I will send an Auror to keep watch over you and your son.'

'Of course Mr.Crouch, I am glad I can be of any help,' said Evan, escorting the woman to the Apparition point then Apparating to her son's apartment. Leaving her a sobbing mess in the arms of her son, Evan Disapparated to the Dark Lord's house as fast as he could. Igor was the first person he saw.

'Igor, I need to see the Master,' said Evan, 'something monstrous has happened. He needs to know.' Igor seemed to consider the matter for a few seconds, but then led Evan through the maze of corridors into the Dark Lord's study.

'Yes Evan, what is the matter?' asked Lord Voldemort.

'My lord, the Irish have slaughtered the British Ambassador in cold blood. His wife came into the Ministry a mess. Barty Crouch was assembling a team and going there to investigate.'

'The Irish?' asked Voldemort, 'It cannot be.'

'My lord, I saw Mrs. Diggory with my own eyes,' said Evan, 'she was a mess. Her husband had not only been killed, but his body desecrated.'

'You did good to tell me,' said Lord Voldemort, 'I am afraid the Ministry will not be capable to handle this. We may have to take matters into our hands.'

'I would strike back at them instantly if you wish, my Lord,' proclaimed Evan, 'I always thought that we made a mistake in abandoning Ireland. And how have they repaid us for freedom?'

'Patience, Evan, we must be cautious,' said Lord Voldemort, 'for now, Igor summon everyone tomorrow evening, just in case.'

'Will do my lord,' said Igor, withdrawing with Evan from the study.

Lord Voldemort seemed to consider matters for a moment before writing a letter, sending it by owl and then retiring for the night. All was going according to plan.

* * *

It was a white night for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The press had somehow gotten wind of the story and had showed up at the scene. The murder itself was appalling in its brutality. Still Barty Crouch had seen murders after murders and was not easily shocked. The murder of a British Diplomat by a foreign group, perhaps with the support of the Irish government itself was what worried him. It worried him enough that a battalion of Aurors had accompanied him to the British Embassy in Creidhne and set up a perimeter around the building. The action had not gone unnoticed and soon, their Irish equivalents had arrived at the scene. The arguments could be heard from the inside of the house itself.

'What are British forces doing on Irish soil?' snapped the Irish Commander, a surly looking individual, easily towering over Barty Crouch.

'This is not Irish soil, this is the British Embassy,' snapped Barty, 'and I would be more concerned about other things if I were you than our presence. You might be seeing a lot more of British Aurors than you would like very soon.'

'Is that a threat English?' roared the Irish Commander.

'Take it as you will,' said Barty, 'now you are prohibited to take another step. This is the British embassy, and as such not subject to your customary laws.'

'The council will hear of this,' threatened the Irish Commander, but calling his forces off. Barty finished his investigation then ordered the withdrawal from Ireland. The body of the late Ambassador, with all the documents and essential goods had been taken out of the house and back to England.

* * *

The next morning the papers roared in outrage. Even normally peaceful and left wing papers called for blood. The population was out for blood. The Nobilitas was out for blood. The Commons was split and the Minister was out for blood because the population and the Nobilitas were out for blood. The Irish students at Hogwarts had been subject to violence from their classmates. In the interests of their safety, they were sent home.

Lord Voldemort's followers were gathered as summoned, filling the small house of the Dark Lord. Soon a more adequate solution had to be found. For now, however, Lord Voldemort had to focus on the task at hand. The morning's letter had soured his mood. His request for reinforcements had been denied, the Grandmaster of the Knights mentioning that they were occupied elsewhere. His initial plan for a glorious attack on Creidhne itself would have to wait for another time. For now a symbolic strike must be done.

'Fellow friends,' said Lord Voldemort, speaking to the assembled witches and wizards. 'Last night, a heinous attack on our Ambassador in Ireland left me pondering. Evan was kind enough to report it to me, so I may have time to prepare our response.' Evan Rosier puffed up, being showered with praise, some looking with admiration at him, while others with envy.

'Yes, Evan's example is one to be followed,' continued Lord Voldemort undisturbed, 'and he will be rewarded for his service.' Evan Rosier's grin stretched even more, posing a danger to disfigure his face.

'However, it will have to wait,' said Lord Voldemort. 'We are the guardians of our society. We lie in the dark and protect our magical brethren. The Irish have dared to strike at the British Ambassador. The Ambassador! Is nothing left sacred in this world? Is this how we are repaid for allowing them their freedom?' The audience was beginning to turn violent, some calling for revenge.

'I can not call myself a Wizard and allow this to happen,' said Lord Voldemort, 'Who is with me?' The Audience finally broke out in shouts. Evan Rosier was raising his wand up high, shouting "Death". Many followed behind him. Lord Voldemort raised his hand and silence ensued.

'We strike tonight,' said Lord Voldemort dramatically. 'Igor has your portkeys. To honour his deeds, Evan has command of the first circle. Maltius shall command the second circle, while I will lead the third circle. Don the masks!' ordered Lord Voldemort.

As on parade, the white masks obscured their figures, a slight sticking charm applied, so as to be removed only by the magical signature of the wielder. Lord Voldemort himself, as well as Maltius Mulciber and Evan Rosier had golden masks to be able to be easily identified by their subordinates in battle.

As the bells in a muggle cathedral not far from there began to sound the entrance into the witching hour, Lord Voldemort and his followers disappeared, the portkeys leading them quickly towards Ireland.

The village of Nechtan Scéne was the destination of the illegal portkeys. Unknown to most of the assembled wizards and witches, it was chosen by Lord Voldemort after the attack on Creidhne had become unfeasible.

The Irish wizards and witches were largely unaware of the small army gathering in the woods outside the village. They had returned to their homes, had dinner with their families and went to sleep. The next day they would have to wake early to go to work in the factories around Creidhne. The village had once been an important centre in Magical Britain, its craftsmen renowned throughout the realm. Now, since the separation, the demand for the goods they once provided plummeted. The fortunate ones found work in Creidhne, while the others went back to their origins, growing food and raising cattle.

Lord Voldemort signalled them to advance. Suddenly, a host of wizards and witches, clad in black robes, with hoods and white masks obscuring their features made their way silently down towards the village. None noticed them, preoccupied with their families and their sleep.

The wizards had made their way down to the edge of the village, the inhabitants completely unaware. 'For Britain,' roared Lord Voldemort, drawing first blood.

'_Fiendfyre_,' chanted Lord Voldemort, at the first house he had encountered. Manoeuvring his wand he caused the fire to spread through the entire house. Screams could be heard from within, as the flames devoured the family inside. The others had been quickly moved into position and caused destructions. Collapsed houses and burning ruins appeared where once stood a village. The scandal had caused some of them to rise from their sleep, a crowd gathering in the central plaza, around the Mayor's house.

The three circles had become separated in the confusion, although order was being maintained by each of the respective commanders. A systematic destruction of the houses was going on, none being spared. A small dog began to bark at the invaders, before being silenced by a Killing curse.

The Mayor was caught completely unprepared by the assault. Still he had been an Auror in the Great War. Hiding his daughters and wife in the cellar, he had made his way outside. A small number of wizards, dressed in their bed clothes awaited.

'Mayor, the village is under attack,' screamed one wizard, 'what can we do?'

'Calm yourselves,' said the mayor, 'who is attacking us?'

'We don't know, sir,' said the wizard, 'wizards in black cloaks, their faces covered.'

'We shall beat them back,' said the mayor, taking the lead, 'to me.'

Unknown to Lord Voldemort's followers, the Mayor was currently rising the yet unaffected houses, sending the children and wives to his house and calling the wizards to fight. The systematic destruction of the southern end of the village now complete, Lord Voldemort was directing his followers to the centre of the village. On the main street the two groups met, face to face.

'What is the meaning of this?' asked the Mayor, 'who are you?'

'_Avada Kedavra!' _the green light twisted towards the Mayor, ending his life before he had a chance to cast a spell or find out the identity of his attackers. The assembled Irish crowd looked shocked. Most of them were farmers or workers, not a single Auror amongst them. Their morale already shaken, they were beginning to be unsure. Some in the rear ranks were currently running away to join their families and escape to Creidhne.

'I don't explain myself to traitorous filth,' said Lord Voldemort, 'Kill them all!'

'_Avada Kedavra!'_ the front ranks chanted, the killing curse rushing towards the villagers. The ones at the front died instantly, but the ones at the back were enraged. Pushing over the dead bodies of their neighbours they began trading whatever spells they remembered from their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes. A braver soul dared strike at Lord Voldemort himself, standing up to his full height, taking aim and shouting at the top of his lungs, '_Stupefy!'_ The blue light rushed towards the Dark Lord. Catching the spell on his wand, he rebounded it back towards a balcony on the edge of the street. The stunner hit the wooden support, breaking it, causing the heavy beams to fall down unto unsuspecting wizard, crushing their skulls.

'You insult me with your childish spells,' said Lord Voldemort, '_Crucio,_' he whispered lovingly, as the Irish began to scream, feeling pain he had not thought possible. His screams seemed to shake the morale of the few surviving villagers, being the breaking point. Some of the braver ones turned tail and ran to collect their families, while the most cowardly tried to Disapparate, abandoning their loved ones to their fate. Seeing the enemy flee, Maltius and Evan directed their subordinates forward, casting Killing curses as fast as they could.

The ones who tried to Disapparate struck a ward they had not known existed, being rebounded back towards the ground, slightly shaken from the unnatural experience. The wizards in the back, who had not had a chance to fight, eager to prove themselves slaughtered them on their way to the Central Plaza.

In the main square the resistance was finally defeated, as they were attempting to enter the Mayor's House. Lord Voldemort paused his spell work, looking around. Maltius and Evan came to join him.

'My lord, we are triumphant,' said Evan, 'looking up to the master.'

'We are, indeed, but the work is not finished,' said Lord Voldemort, 'go out and destroy every single house. Leave nothing standing. Dolohov, you are leading the Third Circle. I await your success.'

'Yes my lord,' said Antonin, 'to me.'

What was once one of the more prosperous villages in Magical Ireland was now a smouldering ruin. Only two structures were left standing, the Mayor's slightly better off townhouse, and the Independence monument, showing a Witch, a Leprechaun flag on a lance in her right hand, breaking her chains. Evan, Maltius and Antonin had returned victorious. The assembled followers eagerly awaited praise from the master.

'Is everyone dead,' asked Lord Voldemort.

'Not a single Irish traitor is left alive, master,' said Evan. 'they are off to meet whatever they worship.' Lord Voldemort seemed to not pay attention, his eyes squinting in the distance. Although it was the middle of the night, distinctive Green and Gold Cloaks could be seen. Irish Aurors had arrived at the scene in force. Too many for his untrained rabble to handle.

'If no one escaped, then who has warned Creidhne?' snapped Lord Voldemort, pointing towards the Irish Aurors who were currently running as fast as their legs could carry them.

'Maybe someone was outside the village,' said Maltius, 'outside the ward.'

'Perhaps,' said Lord Voldemort, 'gather round and grab the Portkeys, we are leaving for England.'

'My lord we can take them,' said one of the rear ranks.

'We did what we came to do,' said Lord Voldemort, 'you did well, but there is room for improvement. Go to your homes tonight, tomorrow I will teach you how to fight together.'

The assembled witches and wizards took the two-way portkeys they had used and disappeared. Once they arrived on the lawn in front of Lord Voldemort's house, they cheered with joy. The adrenaline running high in their veins, none could go home and simply sleep after tonight. Those who held the inclination filled the brothels in Knockturn Alley, while the pubs in Diagon Alley were filled to the brim tonight.

Lord Voldemort, followed by his ever faithful servant was the last to leave Irish shores. He had waited until the Irish Aurors were in plain sight. Igor was beginning to squirm.

'My lord, shouldn't we go, we are severely outnumbered,' whined Igor.

'Not yet,' said Lord Voldemort. The Irish increased their speed, seeing two of the enemy. As soon as the first ranks began to throw spells, which flew off the mark due to the distance, Lord Voldemort cast a blasting curse at the "Ireland breaking its chains". The Statue was broken into thousands of pebbles the size of a Galleon, nothing remaining of it. It was in no way a masterpiece, but the identical piece was littered across Ireland as a proud proclamation of independence. It meant something to the Irish.

'Now,' shouted Lord Voldemort, as he was forced to dispel a bone breaking charm that hit to close to the mark. The portkeys engaged, the two disappeared, spinning towards Ireland, leaving furious Irish Aurors with nothing to kill for fury.

The second day there was outrage in Ireland. Nechtan Scéne had been vanquished, some women and children in a cellar the only survivors. The country's sole important paper, the Free Ireland, accused the English for the slaughter without any shame. It encouraged the Irish Magi Council to declare war, calling the English cowards that would attack women and children. The editor in chief claimed the English were weak, decadent and claimed this "horrible tragedy a chance for Ireland to assert itself as a nation through war." The Irish Magi Council had been in closed session the entire day, the usual British observer absent due to his demise. The session ended late at night, an Auror being ordered to take the missive to the House of Lords first thing in the morning.

The House of Lords was in session, debating the situation in Ireland, as well as the decision to name another ambassador or not.

'The only way we can achieve any peaceful resolution to this conflict is by dialogue,' said Lord Potter, 'we need to have another ambassador straight away. Perhaps someone more prepared than the late one.' The remark earned the scorn of the Nobilitas, Lord Malfoy standing up from his seat, not bothering to walk to the podium.

'Our ambassador is not even buried yet, and Lord Potter insults him,' said Abraxas, causing many to applaud. 'Shall we send another Ambassador so that he can be killed the next morning? Do we wish to create another widow? Perhaps we should send Lord Potter if he is so sure of the _need _for dialogue.' Laughter ran towards the chamber, one of the younger Nobilitas Lord shouting "seconded". Abraxas smiled, but raised his hands asking for silence, as Dumbledore was shouting for order.

'Lord Malfoy, this is not the way to go,' chided Dumbledore, 'I find Lord Potter's suggestion to have merit. And you have spoken out of turn.'

'The only dialogue I want to see from Ireland is their surrender declaration after our Aurors have defeated them,' said Abraxas.

The Nobilitas, and even some of the Aliquanta stood up, applauding. One chanted "War", the shout quickly picking up, "War, war war!" the audience screamed, drowning out Lord Potter's voice as he tried to calm them down from the speaker dais.

'This is not the way to go!' snapped Lord Potter, 'has it been so long since the last war that we forgot its horrors? This is no cause for war!' He was interrupted by Cygnus standing up as well.

'Not a cause for war!' said Lord Black, 'pray do tell Lord Potter, would you have thought the same if it was one of your family members dieing out there. Your son for example?' Lord Potter flushed red, but refused to respond, being shouted down.

As the usual calm discussion and arguments were being replaced by shouts, no order whatsoever, The Novus Veneficus screaming at the Nobilitas, the Nobilitas calling Lord Potter a weakling, the Aliquanta split, some even fighting with their neighbours, an Auror entered the chamber, looked shocked at the Lords fighting, then made his way up to Dumbledore, whispering in his ear. Dumbledore stood up in all his glory, reminding everyone why he was appointed as chair, drawing his wand, casting '_Sonorus'_. His voice boomed, sounding painful for those who were to near to the podium.

'There is a representative of the Irish Magi Council outside these doors,' said Dumbledore, 'you shall have your answer. _Finite Incantatem!'_ At a sign from his hand, the Aurors opened the door, allowing an Irish Auror dressed in green and gold parade robes to enter. He was being booed, threatened, but he continued unabashed.

'May I read the proclamation of my government to the Lords, Headmaster?' said the Auror.

'He will read the proclamation of his government out to the chamber,' said Dumbledore, 'and we shall listen to him in silence until he is finished. If he is not allowed to speak, the Aurors will remove the perpetrators out of the chamber.'

The Aurors looked rather ill. If they removed a Lord of the Realm from the chamber there was bound to be retribution later on, while if they did not obey Dumbledore there was bound to be instant retribution and perhaps demotion for not obeying a direct order. Abraxas Malfoy and Cygnus Black calmed the audience down, taking their seats symbolically. The House was deceitfully quiet as the Irish Auror opened a scroll of parchment.

'_The Irish Magi Council proclaims:_

_The village of __Nechtan Scéne has been the subject of an unprovoked attack the night before. The survivors have identified the attackers as English._

_This unprovoked attack is a threat to Irish Sovereignty and an insult; As such the Irish Magi Council, speaking with one voice for all the witches and wizards demands reparations from the British Ministry of Magic, as detailed below:_

_The sum of 20,000,000 Galleons is to be paid to the Irish Magi Council, sum which is to be used to repair the damage caused and to help the survivors;_

_The creation of three seats on Hogwarts' Governors Board so that the school may be better suited to Irish students needs';_

_The heads of those responsible;_

_The three northern constituencies of Scotland are to be ceded to Ireland;_

_If these demands are not fulfilled, the Irish Magi Council has no option but to declare war._

_Signed by the Irish Archmage, acting on behalf of his people, and with full support of the Magi Council.'_

The Lords held true to their word, not a single shout being heard as the Auror spoke. The presumptuous declaration blanched even Lord Potter and Dumbledore. The first demand could be fulfilled. The second would be highly unpopular with the Nobilitas but it would fall under the House of Commons and as such would pass. The Ministry held authority over the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Minister could be convinced. But the fourth point was impossible to be argued even to the House of Commons. They may be left wingers, but even they would not give away land in the interest of maintaining peace. Lord Potter wanted to ask for the floor, to argue about giving them some room to move, but he was getting slow in his old age. Abraxas Malfoy had already obtained the floor, walking down to the podium, staring at the Irish Auror, his wand in his hand, until he backed down and allowed him to take the speaker dais.

'There can be but one response to the presumptuous demands of rebels,' said Abraxas, 'first they slaughter the Ambassador, desecrate his body, and then make claims to British soil. I forward the motion that the House of Lords issue a declaration of war on Ireland.'

'Seconded,' said Cygnus, raising his wand.

'Thirded,' said Dimitry, causing some to laugh. Abraxas continued gravely.

'Have we become so low that pariah states such as Ireland can order us around like house elves? We need to reassert ourselves or we invite disaster.' Dumbledore looked as if he wanted to say a few words, but Abraxas interrupted him.

'_Honoured_ chair, there is a motion, and it has been seconded. Should we not move to voting on it? I would also like to point out that this is an External Affair, falling under the jurisdiction of the House of Lords according to the reforms of 1945, and since it is a standard motion requires simple majority.' Abraxas then moved in closer to whisper to Dumbledore. 'There are no procedural tricks left, Dumbledore.' The headmaster looked calm, maintaining his grandfatherly attitude, although he was seething inside.

'Very well, the motion will be voted upon,' said Albus. 'All those in favour?'

The Nobilitas faction stood up, casting their spells at the voting globes, joined by a dozen of the more belligerent Aliquanta.

'All those against?'

The entire presence of Novus Veneficus stood up, joined by four Aliquanta, Lord Macmillan not included. Lord Potter looked disappointed at his friend, but Lord Macmillan shook his head.

'Abstentions?'

The remaining Aliquanta, as predicted, cast their neutral vote. The central globe under the podium added the votes up and displayed them in golden letters above.

'The motion is carried forward, by one hundred forty-two to fourteen votes with forty-four abstentions,' said Dumbledore bitterly, 'we are now at war. May you remember what you did today.'

The declaration was being written on parchment, awaiting the signatures of Dumbledore, as chair and the signatures of the leaders of the three factions. The Irish Auror waited, being thrown suspicious looks by his British counterparts, to take it to the Irish Magi Council.

As Abraxas descended to sign the parchment, he looked at the Irish Auror.

'Your status as a messenger protects you,' said Abraxas, 'but the next time you are on British soil you won't make it out alive.'

'Anytime, my lord,' said the Auror, 'anytime you wish.'

Abraxas signed the paper, and then moved back up to his seat. The Irish Auror left rather hurriedly, before the population found out, since they were likely to have less restraint than the Lords and took a Portkey to Ireland.

It would be the last free casual journey in between the two countries, as the ancient ward stones under the Ministry of Magic were being engaged, the massive quantity of magic they held unleashed. The air shimmered slightly, a muggle fisherman off the coast of Britain feeling ill for a few seconds. Britain became an Island fortress once more, even for magic.

XV


	11. The 20 Days War

The announcement of the war on Ireland led to a wave of national support. The Goblin relations Secretary noted an increase in the purchase of Ministry bonds. The House of Lords had received numerous letters praising their willingness to take action. To many, it seemed Britain was awakening from its lethargy and was willing to take the lead again.

It was a rainy day on Diagon Alley. Still, that did nothing to quell the enthusiasm that those assembled felt. The Aurors were gathered for their departure to Ireland. Ranks upon ranks of Aurors dressed in red robes filled the plaza in front of the Palace of the Lords, all standing at attention. The First Auror regiment, as always on Palace duty looked in envy at their colleagues who would soon be experiencing action.

The steps that led up to the Palace were filled with personalities. The Minister of Magic, flanked by Lords Malfoy, Black, Lestrange and Macmillan and Bartemius Crouch, while Headmaster Dumbledore stood to the side. Lord Potter, currently out of favour stood forgotten in the back. There had been few actions since the Declaration of War nineteen days ago. Some reported attempts by Irish Aurors to break through the ward were reported by the Magical Transportation Department. An intervention on the western coast had been repulsed, the shady boats the Irish had used to cross the sea blasted into oblivion. Today a decisive strike would be done. Nearly two thirds of the Ministry's forces would be engaged in the action, the largest Britannia had seen since the war with Grindewald.

A powerful looking wizard left the Auror ranks, his gold trimmed robes showing his significance. A flag carrier followed in his wake, the wind furling the flag, displaying Merlin's imposing figure on a backdrop of red, emerald, blue and black. Abraxas Malfoy arose from the crowd, walking to the speaker dais that had been erected on the steps. The assembled crowd and even some of the normally restrained Aurors cheered. 'Malfoy! Malfoy! Malfoy!' This was the wizard who had helped Britain raise itself from the ashes and be reborn like the Phoenix. Abraxas raised his hands, the audience falling quiet instantly.

'Legatus Scrimgeour, have you the will and ability to do the Lords' will?' Abraxas spoke the ancient words of war to the Auror.

'I have both, my Lord, I will bring you triumph or my corpse forever rot on foreign lands,' said Scrimgeour, bowing from the waist.

'_Sonorus,_' casted Abraxas, this time addressing the troops and the crowd. 'I wish I were going with the brave wizards to dispense justice upon the Irish. We are Britannia and we are not to be trifled with. Attack one British Wizards and you attack them all. Behind me stands the widow of Ambassador Diggory. She wishes the Irish to pay for their most heinous crimes. Who are we to decline such divine justice?' The crowd cheered, riled up with nationalistic feeling and pride. Once the audience had calmed down, Abraxas spoke again.

'Wizards will fall in this venture,' said Abraxas, his voice toned down, causing some in the back to stretch forward to try to hear. 'Good Aurors will never live to see the sun arising on our shores. But their names will be honoured, their glory eternal!'

Applause rang from the audience, with cheers from the Aurors. The national anthem was sung, then the Aurors turned right as one and marched towards the Apparition spot.

'Excellent speech, Abraxas, endearing to the plebs,' said Cygnus.

'A few too many complicated concepts for them to understand there,' said Dimitry, joining up with the two, 'but it will have to do.'

'Let us hope this war will be short,' said Abraxas, 'I don't think we can win a prolonged fight. Thirty years have passed since the last major war. People have forgotten its horrors, but they will be reminded if this war drags out.'

'You do remember it is the Irish we are speaking about, here,' said Cygnus, 'They stand no chance against our Aurors.'

'It is not the victory I am concerned about, friends,' said Abraxas, 'it is how we handle the victory that worries me.'

Once every single Auror had Apparated to the Wizarding port on the western shores of Britain, they were greeted by another enthusiastic crowd. The small population of the port had been gathered to wish the troops well. The Port Master himself had commissioned the ceremony, and after the usual speeches and ceremonies, the Aurors were boarding the ships. Similar to Durmstrang's fabled ship, the instruments used to project British power over long distances overseas were deceivingly ornamented on the outside. The inside was increased ten fold through careful use of expansion charms, although the travel conditions were still cramped and it took a large fleet to transport two thirds of the Ministry's forces overseas.

'Enjoyed the ceremonies, did you Rufus?' asked Alastor, joining his friend in the small cabin he had aboard the flagship.

'They are an important part of our history, Alastor,' said Rufus, 'it helps motivate the Aurors and keeps the population happy.'

'Still, surely you notice how every one of the Purebloods keep telling us how they wish they were coming up with us, and yet I can't seem to notice their absence,' said Alastor.

'You say things too harshly Alastor,' said Rufus, 'you have to learn to pander to the elite.'

'That is why you are made Legatus and I am still a lowly Auror,' said Alastor, 'you do well with the upper crowd.'

'You are my second in command Alastor, I don't think that is quite a lowly position,' said Rufus.

The two were interrupted by a ruddy faced recruit bursting into the room. 'Sir we have reached Irish waters!'

'Very well,' said Rufus, standing up and drawing his wand, 'Ready the troops Alastor, we may face resistance.'

The statue of Justice on the fore of the flagship broke water first as she rose from the deep. The others soon followed, the assembled fleet spelling doom for the Irish Magi Council. It seemed as if the Irish Transportation Department had not done its work. Not a single Irish Auror awaited to do battle with their British counterparts. The shores were empty, the sand and green hills devout of enemy presence. Not willing to risk damage to the valuable vessels, as soon as the last Auror disembarked the fleet returned to the deep, far from Irish wands and their nasty Infernos.

Creidhne was under full alert since the Auror had returned with their claims refused. The already cramped walled city was overflowing as Wizards and Witches from the countryside brought their families to the one place they thought would protect them from harm. The Irish Magi Council had attempted to land on British shores, but lacking the more advanced transportation of their neighbours they had lost several shady boats filled to the brim with Aurors to the unforgiving cold waters as they were blasted from the shores. Since then, Ireland, confident in the impregnable fortress of Creidhne had stood its ground. Several Magi had called for conscription, and the Auror ranks were swelled by poorly trained militia. Lacking Auror robes, and without the means to manufacture them in large stock on such short notice, they made a colourful patch on the outer walls of Creidhne, as they patrolled. Aurors had been dispersed throughout the Militia ranks in an attempt to provide some discipline. Even now, one of them, a particularly tall Auror was yelling at two young men for being caught drinking Firewhiskey on duty.

Still wisdom was not completely lost upon the Irish Magi Council. A regiment comprised of only elite Aurors, led by veterans of the Grindewald War, was stationed inside the Fortress itself, defending the Irish elite and government. By Magi Decree, signed unanimously by the entire council the fortress was sealed for the duration of the war, refugees being forced to find housing in the cramped city outside. If one had sufficient coin and a desire to make a donation for the war effort, certain compensations applied. Often had the gates opened at night, a richly dressed family from the country making their way with Aurors escorting them. Such was the way of life after all.

The atmosphere in the British camp was far more disciplined, although their blood boiled with a desire for action. Currently the Ministry forces were behind a hill, having walked there so as to avoid triggering a response from the Irish Magical Transportation Department. Rufus paced in front of his men, a scroll of parchment with the plans of Creidhne in his hands, awaiting the words of the scouts.

'Legatus,' bowed the scout out of breath, as he had run all the way.

'Take it easy Kingsley, catch your breath,' said Rufus, rolling up the scroll. 'What have your eyes seen?'

'Militia, sir,' said Kingsley, 'they are spread over the North wall.'

'You are sure of this,' said Rufus, signalling Alastor to come closer, reopening his scroll and laying it on a table.

'Yes sir, they were dressed as militia and acted as such,' said Kingsley.

'And you weren't seen?' asked Alastor.

'No, sir, I doubt any of them could see through Invisibility cloaks,' said Kinglsey, 'None reacted to my presence.'

'You can't assume since they didn't react they hadn't seen you Kingsley,' said Alastor, 'Keep in mind that they may want to make us think we caught them unawares. It might be a trap.'

'Yes sir, I'll keep that in mind,' said Kinglsey.

'Good lad,' said Rufus, patting him on the shoulder, 'I'll make sure to mention you in my report. Take your place in the ranks now and draw your wand.'

Kinglsey walked proudly back to his place in the Second Regiment, his mates asking him for details. He was sure to embellish his mission enough to make it seem life threatening, but ensured them he had not been seen. The whispering continued until even the Thirteenth Auror Regiment had heard the details of Kingsley's exploits.

'A good Auror, that one,' said Rufus, watching Kingsley leave.

'Needs to be a bit more vigilant,' said Alastor, 'but his heart's in the right place.'

'Merlin needed to be more vigilant according to you Moody,' said Rufus, 'We attack the north wall and make our way up Freedom Boulevard to the Fortress. There are mostly shops and small buildings, if I recall correctly, so we are less likely to be casted at from houses on the way. Is that vigilant enough for your tastes?'

'What about once we reach the Fortress,' asked Moody, 'the walls there are surely to be warded far better than the North wall.'

'We shall see,' said Rufus, rolling up the scroll, 'Sound the advance.' The flag of Merlin was raised, the Regimental flags following, and then pushed forward. Auror Officers ordered the advance, the sea of Red Robes making their way silently up the hill.

The panic in Creidhne could be seen even from the British ranks as the Militia spotted the Merlin flag. Some had fled the wall, although most stood their ground, their courage bolstered by the Aurors dispersed amongst their ranks.

'Steady,' said the imposing Irish Auror, walking down the length of the wall, 'The wall is warded, you have nothing to worry about. Await my command.'

'Draw wands! At the double,' shouted Rufus, leading his wizards from the front. The Aurors increased their pace, rushing towards casting distance.

'Which regiments are Unforgivable certified, Alastor?' asked Rufus, turning his head towards Moody.

'The Second, Third, Fifth and Thirteenth,' said Alastor, 'The First Guard also is, but they are back on Palace duty, as usual. Wouldn't want the sons of nobility to dirty their boots on Irish soil.' Rufus ignored Moody's jab.

'Have those at the front, keep the rest on reserve,' ordered Rufus. An assistant rushed with the commands, the change in formation occurring slowly as the four elite regiments increased pace and the other eight slowed down. It had been a while since formations had been practised and the sluggish response showed.'

Finally the distance was covered, the adrenalin rising as the first spells would fly and their comrades would die. A deceiving quiet set on the battlefield as the British and Irish faced each other off, the second spread along the wall, the first in a checker formation on the grass outside.

'Give them a volley,' shouted the Irish Auror, raising his wand and sending a Killing Curse dead on towards the assembled British. The others had taken his cue as spells began to fly-Unforgivables from most of the Aurors and an assortment of other spells, ranging from Stunners to Blasting Charms, to Disarmament charms.

'Line formation,' roared Rufus, awaiting the Aurors to shuffle in place. While the stunned could be revived and the disarmed could collect their wands, the Killing Curses left permanent gaps in the ranks. The Aurors reacted well under fire, not a single spell flying back until ordered.

'Front rank kneel,' ordered Rufus. Upon command, the front line went down on one knee, allowing their comrades in the back a clear line of fire.

'Front rank, Reducto at the wall,' ordered Rufus, the flags cloth swirling to display the Rune for the charm.

'Second rank, Avada Kedavra volley at the enemy,' ordered Rufus, casting his own Killing Curse, striking an unfortunate Militia Wizard who fell forward, past the battlement, falling on the soft grass underneath. First blood had been drawn.

'Cast!' roared Alastor. The trails the spells left gave a glow to the grass underneath, as Irish Militia and Aurors not covered by the battlements begun to be mowed from the wall. The slower Reductos hit the wall, causing the wards to glow yellow.

'What did I tell you boys, we are safe up here,' said the Auror, moving from his place behind a stone battlement to cast a killing curse at an unfortunate British Auror. This seemed to encourage the Irish, as the Militia increased its rate of casting, while the Aurors continued their usual fast volleys of Killing Curses.

The second round of Reductos caused the wards to glow a pure white, while some stones seemed to be dislodged from the place the builders had set for them. The walls trembled, shaking those on top and sending waves of fear through the ranks of Militia. Some of the more astute Militia had noticed this and far away from the officers the ranks were thinning, both from the English Killing Curses and desertions to perceived safe places in the city.

'Steady boys,' roared the Auror, 'Let's send them back where they came from! 'Avada-' He did not get to finish his spell as the Reductos had reduced the wall section underneath him to rubble. The wards, of poor quality had not resisted the constant bombardment and the volley had demolished the wall, burying several unfortunate Aurors and Militia under rubble and making some fly unaided for the first time in their life from the force of the blast.

The tall Irish Auror was currently flying to the air, enjoying the situation in a moment of perverse fate as he was heading towards the British ranks. A trained Auror, he had a perfect grip on his wand, which remained in his hand even now. Casting a slowing charm, he slowed his descent prepared to cast the Killing Curse at whoever seemed to hold the higher rank in the vicinity of his landing. Spotting an Auror dressed in red robes with a gold trim, surrounded by flag carriers and assistants he took careful aim and steadied himself to cast the final spell of his life.

A knife slit his throat as his lips were beginning to form the words to end another's life. Alastor Moody wiped his bloodied life on the dead Auror's robes before sheathing it, as Rufus turned surprised.

'Constant vigilance, Rufus,' said Alastor.

'Thank you, Alastor, you are too kind,' said Rufus, turning his attention back to the fight. 'Regiments advance; Reserve regiments stay back and clear the wall. First Regiment to enter the city gets decorated.'

The four elite regiments moved at a run towards the gap in the wall that had been created, racing to outrun each other. The gap was quite wide, allowing the four regiments to pass abreast, stamping over rubble, Irish bodies and several torn flags from the collapsed gatehouse. The eight fresh unengaged regiments started trading spells with the remaining Irish Militia and Aurors on the wall. Soon, however, the Militia turned tail and ran, while the Aurors started a fighting retreat down the treacherous narrow little streets up to the Fortress.

The Irish Magi Council, watching the battle from the highest tower of Creidhne castle had been horrified. The Archmage was at a loss for words, his hands trembling on his staff as he saw the wall being obliterated to nothingness. The War Magi threw down his staff of office and drew his wand. The Internal Affairs Magi approached him.

'What are you doing?' said the Internal Affairs Magi, 'We are still in closed session.'

'Our session is useless,' said the War Magi, 'My place is down with the Aurors.' With that he made his way down the stairs, drawing the stares of the well to do crowd assembled outside Creidhne castle. The War Magi, dressed in fine state robes climbed the wall and took his place in the Auror ranks. The Aurors respected the wizard who would stand with them in their fight. A runner had been dispatched to the Southern Wall and reinforcements should arrive shortly, but for now a single regiment stood between the English host and the fortress.

'Wizards,' spoke the War Magi, 'friends. This Fortress is the heart of Ireland and we are its keepers. As long as I draw breath, no English will step in our most holy domain. Stand firm and remember what you fight for. Freedom!' The Aurors tightened the grips they had on their wands as the Merlin Flag could be seen on the Freedom Boulevard.

The few Aurors who had tried to conduct a fighting retreat had fallen prey to the Killing Curses of the Thirteenth Regiment, first to enter the city. Even now, with Rufus at the front, the British Aurors ran towards the fortress.

'Forward lads, to victory,' shouted Rufus as the taller walls of the Fortress could be seen. The narrow boulevard did not allow the British to deploy their superior numbers and the Thirteenth Regiment was the only one currently facing the Irish.

'Ignore the Irish,' said Rufus, 'the wall. Bring down the wall.' As commanded by officers Reductos flew, making the wards sparkle but not even touching the wall. The first rank was beginning to thin out, as the Irish killing curses made widows of British witches. Upon command the first two ranks were rotated, the Reducto barrage continuing unhinged.

'Bring it down,' swore Rufus, as the wards began to glow yellow. Shouts came up from the rear as the Militia and Aurors from the South wall had went around the fortress and struck the British in the rear. The poorly trained tenth regiment, made up of mostly raw recruits was being shredded to pieces by the Irish Aurors. The militia had taken positions on the side streets and in the shops and houses, taking whatever cover they could provide and stunned whoever they could. Fewer and fewer British Aurors were being revived as their comrades lay dying on the soiled cobblestone. As per rules of engagement, a stunned opponent was not harmed, being considered a prisoner of war as long as he remained stunned. The large numbers of British Aurors trapped in between could do nothing. Pushing forward did nothing against the warded wall while pushing backwards did nothing, there being no room to manoeuvre.

'Damned trap,' swore Rufus. The gates were being opened and the Irish were pouring out of the fortress, a richly dressed wizard leading them. Even the Thirteenth Regiment began to falter as the Irish scored hits on them without a single hit being returned. The wards were glowing a lighter yellow, but were still far off from the white that heralded their doom. Eying the situation he came to a decision. It was the time to act or to retreat. Two particularly large townhouses were propped against the wall, as the vicinity of the fortress was a fashionable place to live in for those who could not afford to live in the fortress itself.

'Alastor, do you see the houses?' asked Rufus, pointing towards the houses closest to the wall.

'Yes, what about them?' asked Alastor, 'This is not really the time to be discussing Irish Architecture.'

'Do you think they are warded?' Alastor's eyes dawned with recognition.

'Only one way to find out,' said Moody, '_Reducto_!' The spell hit the townhouse on the left, ripping through a marble column and bringing down the balcony it supported.

'Regiment, fire on the houses,' ordered Rufus as he fired his own Reducto at the house. The unwarded houses were soon turned to rubble, falling quickly under the barrage, creating a mountain of debris next to the wall.

'Climb the debris, advance!' ordered Rufus, drawing a short dagger with his left hand, his wand held tightly in his right. The Thirteenth Regiment seem to gather new strength as its thinned ranks and spent Aurors charged at the gates. The Irish managed to get off another round of Killing Curses before the British were upon them. The organised volley fire had turned into a one on one duel, the spell variety increasing. Rufus himself had climbed at the top of the debris first, followed by Alastor.

An Irish Auror moved to intercept him, but a well placed Killing Curse ended his life before he had any chance of heroics. Rufus stabbed the one to his left as he pushed forward towards the stone courtyard. The Regiment was behind him, the Cruciatus Curse being heard more often than the Killing Curse as they poured their hatred and their dismay at the losses they suffered into their spells. Rufus was the first to lay step on the stone courtyard in front of the Castle. The Irish Aurors in his path were being taken care of. The right side had been nearly as successful, clearing up resistance. A small pocket of Irish Aurors still gathered around the War Magi, as they duelled the Thirteenth Regiment, still guarding the gate with their lives.

'_Avada Kedavra!'_ Rufus casted, joined by Alastor Moody, ending the life of two Aurors guarding the rear of the War Magi. Their attention distracted, pressed on from two sides, the Irish Aurors lay dead on the cobblestone. Only the War Magi remained, his ornate robes in crass contrast with the death and destruction surrounding him.

'You have fought honourably sir,' said Rufus, 'lay down your wand and order the surrender and I shall let you live.'

'_Avada Kedavra!'_ casted the Irish War Magi. Rufus, dropped to the ground as fast as he could, the Killing Curse ending the life of a veteran of the Thirteenth Regiment behind him who had not had the time to dodge. Alastor spoke the words that ended the War Magi's life, extended a hand to help his friend up, and then moved to the rear of the column to see to the fighting.

'Are you all right, Legatus,' asked Kingsley, coming up next to his superior.'

'Yes Kingsley,' said Rufus, 'a good wizard, he fought until the end. Hoist the flag on the gatehouse.'

The flag carriers climbed the tower, ritualistically severed the flag poles and burned the Leprechaun flags and hoisted the Merlin flag on top of the Gatehouse towers. A cry of dismay could be heard from the rear as the Irish troops saw the British flag flying above Irish soil once more, but they lay down their wands and surrendered. The fight was lost today.

Rufus made his way escorted by a few veteran Aurors to the tall doors of Creidhne castle, using his wand to blast them inwards. Inside, the Entrance Hall was filled with members of the Irish Magi Council, led by a now calmer but resigned Archmage.

'Archmage, the city is lost,' said Rufus, 'surrender the city to me and we shall avoid any further bloodshed.'

'If I do that, nearly thirty years of Irish Independence will amount to nothing,' said the Archmage regretfully. The British Aurors drew their wands to underline the point.

'It was a dream built on weak foundations,' said Rufus, 'Ireland belongs to the British, or at least it will when our Lords arrive to take ownership of it and accept your formal surrender. Will you yield or must we keep fighting?'

'I, Archmage of Ireland, Head of the Irish Magi Council surrender Creidhne to you,' said the wizard regretfully handing his ceremonial staff to Rufus.

'Kinglsey, place them under arrest, but treat them well, they are soon to be British citizens once more' said Rufus, 'I would recommend you send dispatches to let the people know. We wouldn't want any unfortunate accidents to happen.'

'Of course Legatus,' said the Internal Affairs Magi.

A couple of the younger Aurors had found some brooms and had flown up to the highest tower and replaced the Leprechaun flag with the Merlin flag, which flew proudly on what was British soil once more. The Internal Affairs Magi had sent the members of his department that he could still find with a declaration for the populace. It would be his last major act of office.

Several Aurors were now drinking in a fateful pub in Creidhne, although they were not aware of the fact. As they were toasting to dead comrades and to Legatus Rufus, the speaker could be heard detailing the Internal Affairs Office's Declaration. The population had gravitated to the speakers, listening to what was to come.

"_As of today, the city of Creidhne has been surrendered informally to the Legatus Rufus in command of the British Auror Regiments on Irish soil. The bloodshed shall end and no one needs to die in vain. All acts of violence and harm against British Aurors are a crime punishable to the full extent of both Irish and British Laws. All offenders will be tried by an ad-hoc war tribunal._

_I beg you to respect this law. This is the time to be with your families, not out dieing on the streets of Creidhne._

_Signed,_

_Internal Affairs Mage"_

Sobs could be heard in the city all night as loved ones were found dead or wounded, while cries and prayers went up for those who were still alive, and Ireland itself. Rufus Scrimgeour had forbidden looting and desecrating of bodies, be they Irish or British and had Auror patrols all night on rotation. Anyone caught was to be judged by a war tribunal.

The dead had been gathered by each family and an Irish state funeral was held for the fallen, both Aurors and Militia. The Irish Aurors were allowed to assemble one last time as an honour guard, while the bodies were covered with the Leprechaun flag and entombed into the Creidhne Necropolis. The ceremony had to be over by noon as representatives of Britain would be arriving. Hired labourers had been working all night to clear the Freedom Boulevard of rubble and clean the path to the fortress.

The population had assembled to see their new rulers. Fearing disorder, the Aurors formed a wall alongside both sides of the Freedom Boulevard, holding the population at bay. At exactly the established time, the British Delgation, formed out of Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold, Law Enforcement Head Bartemius Crouch, Lord Malfoy, Lord Potter and Lord Macmillan Apparated outside the former Freedom Gate, with a battalion of Auror Guards from the First Auror Regiment. The Aurors took position surrounding the delegates and marched in parade step up the ruined boulevard. The population was dead quiet as they saw the small parade. The fright of disorder had proved to be exaggerated, as some elements of society already saw the benefits to a British presence returned. Sales in pubs had tripled since the Aurors were here, and they paid well, unlike impoverished Irish patrons. Several merchants anticipated an increase in business as well. Freedom, while nice and dandy, after all did not pay for your food or your family.

The Irish Magi Council, in their last official capacity, was gathered to greet the delegates outside Creidhne castle. The negotiations would be conducted behind closed doors, however.

'Legatus Rufus,' said Abraxas, 'Let me be the first to offer congratulations for your triumphant victory. You may have ended the war in one clean stroke.'

'Thank you my lord, you are too kind,' said Rufus, bowing slightly.

'Not such a clean stroke,' whispered Alastor, 'we lost 10 of our effectives. Nobility can't be bothered with that detail, though, can they?'

'Now is not the time, Alastor,' whispered Rufus, as he accepted praise from the Minister of Magic. The Aurors were taunting the Auror Guards, looking defiant at them. The Auror Guards merely exchanged murderous glances with the regular regiments, but did not respond. Duelling was frowned upon in the Auror Corps. Duelling in front of the Minister, the Lords, and their own Department Head would have brought upon grave consequences.

'Lord Malfoy, what is your impression on the Irish surrender,' said the Minister.

'Only a complete surrender would do,' said Lord Malfoy, 'the complete transfer of power back to the British Ministry of Magic and the complete disbandment of the Irish State.'

'You are right of course,' lied Millicent Bagnold, 'that was my idea also.'

'Certainly, Minister,' said Abraxas smiling. The Minister of Magic had begun to take his advice far more often than usual, but it suited him. The Ballroom of the Palace would hold the Peace Talks, the ancient room lined with Auror Guards, adding to the pressure the Irish Magi Council felt already.

'Archmage,' said Millicent Bagnold, 'let me introduce Lords Malfoy, Macmillan and Potter and Law Enforcement Department Head Bartemius Crouch.'

'A pleasure,' said the Archmage, although the words seem to come out rather difficult.

'I am sure it is,' said Abraxas earning a scoff from Richard Potter.

'I regret we have to meet under such circumstances, Archmage,' said Richard Potter, extending his hand.

'Let us dispense with the pleasantries Minister. Ireland is at your mercy, I have allowed my staff to come up with what we believe is an appropriate solution to this conflict,' said the Archmage handing out several scrolls of parchment. The British studied it, while the Irish Magi Council appeared eager to please.

'Ireland is to maintain its national identity by turning it into a Dominion; The Irish Magi Council will remain in its current form; Irish Aurors will remain as one regiment to maintain order; Irish institutions will remain; Irish foreign policy to be handled by Britain,' read Abraxas out loud, 'Gentlemen it would seem you had not lost this war from reading this. Minister, this won't do.' The Archmage's good mood plummeted.

'Lord Malfoy is of course correct,' said Millicent, looking uncomfortable with the situation, 'the only measure we can accept is an unconditional surrender, the disbandment of all Irish Magical Institutions and the joining of Ireland to Britain, as a province ruled by a Governor of our choosing.' The Minister of Magic looked towards Abraxas who bowed his head slightly.

'That would destroy everything we have built,' protested the Archmage, 'even before we were allowed to have a say in our rule. Now you want us to be ruled by an appointed _English _governor?'

'Whatever goodwill you had from us and moderate self determination you lost when you decided to rebel,' said Lord Malfoy standing up, 'you will sign the agreement as dictated by us, or the war will continue until there is no more Ireland.'

'Minister?' said the Archmage.

'Lord Malfoy must have used Legilimency on me,' joked Millicent, 'that is our official position.'

The Archmage seemed reluctant, but signed the roll of parchment. After that he threw the quill down and left the room without another word. The rest of the Irish Magi Council signed their names and followed their leader into exile. After adding their signatures to the parchment, Lord Potter more reluctant than the others, the Minister handed the parchment to Bartemius Crouch.

'Barty have this placed in the safest vault in Gringotts, under all necessary precautions.'

'Of course Minister,' said Barty, 'I will look into it myself. It is after all a prized document. May I suggest we depart back for Britain?'

'We did what we set out to do,' said the Minister, taking the lead rather reluctantly.

'If I may make a suggestion, Minister,' said Abraxas, 'I recommend Rufus Scrimgeour be granted absolute powers in Ireland until we elect a governor.'

'As always Lord Malfoy, your suggestions are in line with my wishes,' said the Minister.

'If we are on that aspect, might I suggest Orion Black as governor?' said Abraxas.

'While, that is a most interesting proposal,' said the Minister, 'I will nominate him in front of the House of Lords. This is after all a proposal of External Affairs until Ireland is formally joined to Britain.'

'Naturally,' replied Lord Malfoy, much to Lord Potter's chagrin.

XV


	12. International Tidings

**Chapter XII International Tidings**

**A/N: and so with this chapter Of Blacks and Malfoys has returned. Bear with me as it has been a while since I wrote and I feel a bit awkward with some things. Hopefully I will be back to scratch soon.**

**This chapter was difficult to write and one of the reasons I had paused writing. A pause which turned into a long break. However, new will, since inspiration I did not lack in the first place has coerced me into writing again. I had planned it longer, but I felt the need to get past it so I can get back to the usual style and events. Some filler, some foreshadowing of future events, some turning points. A mix of all style chapter, for your reading pleasure.**

**Sorry for the abnormally long delay…**

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As the wide range of tourists left the ancient premises of the Vatican, as night fell, far stranger and deadlier characters appeared in the shadow of the ancient walls of the eternal city.

To an external observer, the whole tableu seemed ripped straight out of an ancient fairytale. Long cloaks, elegant dresses, they all magically appeared in dark alleys and made their way to Castel Sant'Angelo. The eternal resting place of the Most Revered and August Emperor Hadrian, stronghold of the Papacy, the ancient mausoleum had seen many uses throughout its long life, some known and some little less so.

In the vaulted bolted halls under the fortress' visible part, the International Confederacy of Wizards had gathered for its bi-annual meeting. Wizard-Kings, Archmages, Ministers, Lords and Ladies of the Realms, as well as their retinues would fill Rome for the night in talk, ceremony and revelry.

On behalf of Britannia, the pale visage of Lord Malfoy accompanied Minister Millicent. The written charter confirming him as the House of Lords' representative had been renewed this year with the customary, comfortable majority. The red clothed First Auror Regiment escorted the two, far more watchful in these perilous times. Their reputation of fearless warriors ensured the less war-like stayed away from the British delegation. Rumours had surfaced of a possible Irish terrorist attack. Millicent seemed far more fearful of the Irish, cowering behind her escort. Lord Malfoy held no such fright. Wand placed within his walking cane, he strode confidently through the underground chambers, making his way towards the Meeting Hall. Like many wizarding gatherings, the meeting could not begin until various ceremonies and rituals had been performed, a superstitious remnant that went back to their ancient times in Rome. Another long term tradition was the stuffing that accompanied each event, usually before in the case of plain, unimportant gatherings, or after in the case of grand and important events, to ensure the complete attention of their participants. This would be an event of the latter condition, only refreshments being served before the meeting of the heads of state that made up the International Confederation of Wizards.

Abraxas, Millicent and their Auror escort were not the sole British Wizards present, however. The wizened figure of Albus Dumbledore, sworn in leader and chair of the confederation could be glimpsed through the double doors that separated the foyer from the meeting hall. Traditionally, the Supreme Mugwump was the leader of the most powerful Wizarding State of the time. Although Britannia still fit the charter, Albus Dumbledore was sworn in by proclamation after the Invictus Coalition's triumph over Grindewald's Consortium of States. A popular move at the time, save for the delegates of those states situated on the losing side in the war, it was becoming less so with Dumbledore's own state. Despite Lord Malfoy's objections, and implicitly Minister Millicent's objections, none could contest that Albus Dumbledore was still a force to contend with in the Wizarding World.

As the various heads of state and their retinue took their allotted chairs in the hall, Albus Dumbledore read the proclamation that was read from the first meeting so many centuries ago.

"_Fellow Wizards of the Seven Tribes; Though fate separated us and the Seven Hills stand united no more, the children of the Eternal City reunite to hear the pleas and solve the differences among us. May peace, power and the eternal bliss of bountifulness descend upon the Children of the Gods and may we never know strife amongst us."_

Largely ceremonial, the proclamation stood true for only a little while after the Scattering. Although there had been peace since the Great War amongst the founding states, conflict still wormed its way in between the younger Wizarding States. Even old Europa was not foolproof, however, as the recent 20 Day War demonstrated. And it was this conflict that was on everyone's mind and notes for the conference.

'Witches and Wizards,' spoke Albus Dumbledore, his voice magically amplified throughout the hall, reaching even the delegate of Pacific Islands Union in the rear. 'we have many items on our agendas and as I am sure most of us are awaiting the delights the elves have prepared for us, I beg for a smooth and calm meeting." A polite applause and even a smile from Dumbledore's ardent supporters filled the hall. Dumbledore smiled at them, then clearing his throat continued. 'First on the agenda, the trading dispute of the Empire of Brasilia with the Kingdom of France. Since the Brasilian Emperor is the accuser, the podium is his.

The Most Serene Lord of the Rainforest Empire, hidden from Muggles by the vast expanse of impenetrable jungle and one of the main sources of the Magical material the Founding States relied upon for their daily needs, the aged wizard made his way to the podium and spoke his plea.

'Fellow witches and wizards, we supply France, with nearly one third of its raw material needs. Our wizards face untold perils in the rainforest, hunting down magical beasts, harvesting rare plants and cutting down precious magical wood. It is a hard life, but some one must do it. In return France supplies us with finished goods, great craftwork and potent artefacts. From their comfortable palaces, the French have no trouble creating the objects we pay for dearly in blood. We hold no hard feelings, however. That is the way of things and the Founding States are given the respect they deserve from us. One would think that would be enough and the trade would be fair. One would be much ignorant to think so. Every year French Guilds, under the patronage of their Great Houses, comfortable in trade agreements centuries old have slashed prices. Labour costs have gone up they tell me. It is hard to find wizards to do honest craft work these days, they complain.

The passionate and some would say just plea of the Brasilian Emperor was interrupted by the outcry from the French aristocrats accompanying the French Wizard-King, under whose patronage many of the offending guilds operated. However, the wizened emperor would not be so easily diverged from his purpose.

'They cry out because they are guilty,' boomed the emperor, the magically amplified voice unusually strong for a man of his stature and age, 'Having presented the above, I call for sanctions to be imposed on the Magical Kingdom of France and for the International Confederation of Wizards to set a minimal tariff upon imported raw magical materials.

The final demand, just as it seemed for the new states, seemed to be the final drop of potion that broke the audience's patience. Lord Delacour, part of the retinue of the French Wizard-King seemed especially vocal in his protests. Understandably so, naturally, since the Delacour Guild based itself upon Brasilian imports for most of its products.

In the end, it was a forlorn conclusion to the desperate plea of the Brasilian Emperor. Whatever hope of equity and fairness from the old magical world, the founding states of the Confederation paled against the financial interest of the powerful families on old Europa. With each of the founding states controlling twenty votes to the one of the new states, the old world triumphed once more, safe under the many intricacies of the founding charter.

While Dumbledore himself rooted for equality and the elimination of age old barriers and traditions, his was a voice lost under the thunder of the united old world. The perilous subject that would follow after the looked forward to recess would not share the same easy fate. Matters within Europa were delicate at best and full blown wars at their worst.

As the heads of states, ambassadors, retinues and so on made their way back into the grand hall under Castel Sant'Angelo, Supreme Mugwump Albus Dumbledore brought about the most important subject of the annual conference. The Irish Situation, brought about by the end of the 20 Day War had been _the_ news on the old continent for a while now.

'Fellow witches and wizards' spoke Dumbledore, his voice wizened by the gravity of the matter, 'the next point on the agenda is the hostilities that have transpired between Britannia and Ireland…'

The voice of the Supreme Mugwump trailed off, detailing the exact nature of the war and the subsequent occupation. In the meantime, Lord Malfoy, intimately involved with all the details of the war, conversed with Minister Bagnold, in a rare moment of chattering.

'A rare sight indeed Minister,' said Abraxas, 'A Supreme Mugwump that speaks ill and betrays his own country.' Millicent froze unable to decide. On one hand speaking ill of the most revered wizard in Britannia was bound to bode ill for her political career, but on the other hand Lord Malfoy was her most ardent supporter and the Nobilitas had supported her bid for the top job. She settled for the politician's path.

'Headmaster Dumbledore's loyalties seem rather odd of late,' conceded the Minister.

'One can only wonder, Minister,' replied Lord Malfoy, turning his attentions back at the speakers. He risked a small glance at the French Wizard-King, who nodded in return, his face solemn. Britain had few trustworthy allies in this chamber, but despite friendly banter in between the two nations, The Kingdom of France could be counted as one. The two tribes had travelled together after the Scattering for a while. It was not the Britons' fault that the French decided to stop early.

Albus Dumbledore's calm voice continued the presentation of the situation. Prepared, as was the law, by observers from both sides, his pained voice seemed to favour the Irish slightly, leading to whispered murmurs throughout the chamber.

The old wizened headmaster had always seemed to stand aloof, free of the mundane concerns and politics of other wizards. In his youth he was lauded for it, and the general belief in Europa was that wizards such as Dumbledore were the future, petty national concerns fleeing before larger, wizardian interests. History had proven him wrong, as of late, it seemed and many looked askance at what they perceived to be not pan-Europeanism but mere dissention from Britannia. Naturally, they became suspicious and the rumour mill spun round and round, the motives being judiciously defended and justified by minor delegates of small powers.

Lord Malfoy gnashed his teeth, although except for a small tightening of the jaw bone, none noticed in his otherwise calm posture. He had tried to make Minister Bagnold conform to his point of view and that of the party, but ancient traditions maintained that only a chief of state may speak in front of the International Confederation of Wizards. All of Abraxas' machinations might prove unfruitful in one speech from the nervous looking Minister.

The fact that Millicent's hands trembled on the thick parchment they had worked on for the past week did not bode well for Abraxas' confidence of the matter. He had done all he could, but by Jupiter if Minister Bagnold failed to conform to standards, the House of Lords would look for a more suitable replacement, one more malleable to the Nobilitas tastes perhaps.

'Since Ireland is not actually a signatory of the Charter, their representatives can not actually present their case to the Confederation,' said Albus Dumbledore, his tone identical to the one he used with his Transfiguration students. 'However, in a _gracious_ move, Iberia has decided to speak in their favour.'

Anger flashed across Abraxas' face but was quickly concealed behind the calm, serene mask he used for such occasions. The Iberian Archmage rose, making his way solemnly across the speaker dais, his robes a vivid explosion of orange and red, with the coat of arms of the Iberia embroidered over the left breast. A youthful Archmage, Abraxas noted, and potentially dangerous.

'What Britannia has done can only be qualified as undue aggression and wand rattling. This is not what Europa needs. War amongst ourselves will only weaken us, while Muggles breed like rabbits. Not only is this aggression exaggerated and undue, but it also eliminates the sovereignty of a nation, a fact which is clearly stipulated to be in violation of…' the Archmage droned on, much to Abraxas' annoyance. Looking at Millicent, he bowed down to whisper in her ear, under the sharp eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

Recognition dawning on her face, Millicent Bagnold, stood, the picture of perfect, just anger. 'Supreme Mugwump, I object most strenuously to the Honourable Archmage's _presumptions_,' said the Minister of Magic, some confidence seemingly making its way back into her frail form. No longer did she appear the grandmotherly puppet of the Nobilitas, but the righteous successor of Merlinus, in all her glory. 'Not only is the Archmage of Iberia making heinous accusations against Britannia, but he is in clear ignorance about the Confederation's Charter. I understand that in his young age he might not have bothered to read the ICW Charter, being concerned with more mundane matters,' punctuated Millicent Bagnold to the amusement of the delegates, the Archmage turning red-faced. The laughter seemed to instil new confidence in Millicent. Abraxas looked at her as one would as a well trained dog.

'Clearly sanctions cannot be imposed on a _founding _state for aggression against a sham construct of a state, one not even recognized by this very confederation,' concluded Millicent Bagnold, under the thunderous applaud of the hall.

'Dumbledore looked sadly at the Archmage, who shot murderous glances towards the British delegation,' and reluctantly spoke the words that concluded the unborn motion of the Archmage.

'The tribes have spoken, Archmage,' said Dumbledore, 'It is not to be.'

The Archmage returned to his chair, his robes now trailing of the ground, instead of proudly displaying his nation. Dumbledore stood and the other delegates followed after a small delay. Tone solemn, Dumbledore recited the familiar words for the end of the session.

'_Fellow Wizards of the Seven Tribes. Our talks concluded let us feast on the cup of sincerity and share the bread of friendship and pray we assemble in the Eternal City alive for another Council.'_

The words, dating back from a time when such stability as the Wizards enjoyed was unknown, frequent strife and conflicts with muggles led to Wizards enjoying glamorous but short lives. As a great philosopher said back in those Dark Days, "A Wizard's life is like that of an Inferno; It burns brightly and incinerates anything in its path, but goes out just as quickly."

The revelry that always followed after any Council, essential in maintaining good trade relations, for the flow of Galleons bought more peace than a thousand peace treaties, was remarkably more cheerful than the Council itself. Lord Malfoy had matters of his own to take care of, so he left Minister Bagnold to tender to her own and renewed his lucrative trade contracts in Eastern Europe for another ten years. All in all it had flowed rather well, he thought as he slipped wine from a silver goblet. Millicent had exceeded all expectations. She had also cast her pot with the Nobilitas, clear for the entire world to see. The Prophet would make sure of that.

The public relations Department had not slacked off while the Minister was away in Roma. Under the leadership of the proverbial Cornelius Fudge, the department flurried with activity well into the night. Exhausted from the week, Cornelius Fudge collapsed into his armchair. He longed for the days when others would toil while he drank wine with the rulers of Europa and the world. Still, one had to carry the rock to build the fortress. Bartemius Crouch had been particularly difficult to convince, but crafty Fudge, as his assistants called him dearly had managed to bulge the old rock. The Minister would have a grand return, reinforcing the statue of her office, keeping the population in high spirits, and naturally helping to advance Fudge's career.

As Millicent Bagnold Apparated in the customary spot at the intersection of Government Alley and Diagon Alley she was surprised. It seemed the entire population of the Dominion of London was gathered here, stern faced Aurors holding the population at bay, while trumpets began to blare from the right. Amazement ringed her face as the population cheered for their Minister of Magic. In exact cue, the Aurors of the The 20 Day War as the papers deigned it, with the elite Thirteenth Regiment and lead by Rufus Scrimgeour himself paraded past the Minister, saluting with martial precision. Millicent was surprised, but pleasantly so, and smiled gratuitously at Cornelius Fudge, who inclined his head with false modesty.

Abraxas Malfoy smiled from behind the Minister. Young Cornelius had always tried to distance the Ministry from the House of Lords, perhaps preparing the field for his eventual ascension. Still, his time would come and he too would come pleading to the Nobilitas to support and guide him. As they all did. Abraxas longed for the old days when Ministers of Magic were successors to Merlin in more than name, but in the current political deadlock, only weaklings from Aliquanta ever seemed to get the post. Better than Novus Veneficus, Abraxas thought, at least, shuddering at the thought and Disapparating for his Office in the Palace. An extraordinary session had been called by the Minister of Magic and the Lords would reunite tomorrow. Abraxas had much to prepare and little time to do so.

Millicent Bagnold put out the candles in her bedchamber with a flick of her wand, prior to settling in her comfortable large bed, sighing with pleasure at what had been a very good day, if she could say so.

Roughly at the same time a worried Cygnus joined his wife in the Master Bedroom at Ravensden. Druella had still not recovered fully and for the second time in his life, Cygnus felt old age creeping up on him. Old age and no wizard heir. Praying that Walpurga and Orion made a better job with Sirius than he did with Andromeda, Cygnus cleared his worries as he stretched next to his wife.

Deep within the bowels of Lord Voldemort's house, Igor Karkaroff slept after ensuring his master had all he needed. The Dark Lord seemed inordinately pleased tonight and had even decided to allow Igor a small reward.

In the cavernous office of the Dark Lord, the flames burned for another hour until Lord Voldemort finally retired for his bedroom deftly hidden behind the fireplace of his study.

Even later the last candles were extinguished at the Lords and Commons Palace as the last occupant, Lord Malfoy made his way towards his home at last. Servants sighed in relief, since they could go home as well.

* * *

The day was cold, fur lined robes keeping the crisp winter air at bay, as the Lords of the Realm made their way up the marble steps of the Palace, to attend the extraordinary session called by the Minister of Magic. Although the rumour mill ran rampant amongst the press, many of the Nobilitas already knew the purpose of the matter, and as such strode with a knowing air above the excitable crowd.

'Lord Malfoy,' screamed one of the reporters for attention, 'any inkling of today's session?'

'All will be revealed in due time, gentlemen,' replied Abraxas, 'I suggest you take your place in the press balcony.'

'The Lords are assembled and the House is present to hear the matter,' spoke an assistant to Albus Dumbledore.

'A quorum is gathered,' spoke Dumbledore gravely, 'if there are no objections we will move forward with the emergency session.' The House was silent, the only sound being the three magical quills scratching parchment as they recorded the words of the Chairman-one quill for the records, one quill for the House of Lords and one quill for the House of Commons. Likewise, in the press balcony, quills were scratching at a faster pace, guided by wizard and witches' hands this time, embellishing the truth to the full extent possible.

'Without further words, I accord the floor to Minister of Magic,' said Dumbledore, his hand inviting Millicent Bagnold to take the speaker dais. The Minister nodded solemnly, gathered her robes and made her way to the ancient stone.

'Honoured Lords of the Realm, Distinguished Chairman,' the Minister's voice intoned, 'as you are all aware the Magical Republic of Ireland ceased to exist as a separate entity mere weeks ago. Martial Law has kept the population calm and content for now, but we need to seek more permanent ways of asserting our will and rule upon our citizens across the sea. In the Directorate's eyes only one wizard is capable enough of maintaining order and protecting British interests in the Colony of Ireland. The Ministry of Magic calls upon Orion Black to abandon all his current business and depart in all haste for Ireland to serve Britannia, as Magical Governor of Ireland.' The Minister paused for breath, the proclamation intoned in seemingly one single breath, and continued, her eyes pointed straight at the Nobilitas as she delivered her final words of the proclamation. 'I pray for the Lords to consider the matter thoroughly and vote in favour of the resolution.'

'Thank you Minister,' said Dumbledore, gesturing for Millicent Bagnold to concede the dais. 'A nomination for a new position sits on parchment. The chair will entertain one objection and one support. If there are any who wish to speak against the matter?' Dumbledore left the statement hanging.

As expected, Richard Potter's wand shot high in the air, renewed vigour seeming to pour in the old wizard's limbs.

'The chair recognizes Lord Potter,' said Dumbledore, the faint of a smile creeping up on his wizened visage. Albus had high hopes for Richard Potter, who shared many of his ideals, but his hands were tied due to the iron grip of the Nobilitas on the House of Lords. Risking a furtive glance at the Minister of Magic who sat besides him, Albus could not help to compare the two. What a Minister of Magic would Richard Potter make… His thoughts were interrupted as Lord Potter had made his way towards the speaker dais, under polite applause from the Novus Veneficus.

'The situation in Ireland is regrettable. I had thought such times were behind us,' Lord Potter's voice thundered through the House under admiration from Novus Veneficus, interest from the Aliquanta and haughty gazes from the Nobilitas. 'But one must make do with what one is handed out. Our blunders aside, I, for one, do not think Orion Black is the suitable candidate for the post. No offence intended to Honourable Mister Black, naturally, but his sanguine temperament and the heavy hand he is known for make him the wrong choice for the matter. His talents are better suited elsewhere perhaps? What we need is a wizard of great calm and patience to handle matters. A wizard who may calmly mediate matters and temperate hot heads before anymore blood is shed.' Pausing to look at the House before continuing, specifically at the Aliquanta, Lord Potter cleared his throat.

'If I may speak clearly, my lords, a Novus Veneficus is unsuited for the task, for he does not have the will to control matters. I am willing to admit such faults. However, in the same spirit, I pray the Nobilitas consider theirs; for they too are unfit for the post, unwilling to compromise sufficiently to allow a peaceful transition to Britannia's control. I pray that we may once again reach consensus and turn to the Aliquanta for the matter. I nominate Lord Longbottom for the position.'

Sharp surprise rang across the chamber, except for the select few who had known this was in the making. The Minister seemed oddly confounded at the moment. Her own party's betrayal on the regrettable werewolf affair had driven a wedge between them, but her nomination not supported by her own party had seemed to seal the nail on her coffin. Without her party's support she was forced to rely heavily upon the Nobilitas, who undoubtedly favoured some of their own matters.

The press did not miss the fact and the Minister's fall from grace and were scribbling down furiously, muttering amongst themselves.

'We have two nominations on the table,' said Dumbledore, returning to the laws of precedence, 'The Nobilitas will speak in favour of their candidate, I presume?'

Soft laughter rang through the hall as Lord Malfoy made his way to the speaker dais.

'While the Honourable Lord Potter's call for calm and moderation are admirable,' said Abraxas, 'I do not agree to his position. We all have seen that Lord Potter's actions often lack the spine required for a Lord of the Realm. I trust the Lords have not forgotten the humiliation upon this House of the ill handed werewolf affair. Then too, moderation and calm were called for and a harder, but speedy resolution was ignored. I call upon the wisdom of your years to decide the matter. Shall we yet again fall prey to softness, or shall we act decisively to preserve our control of Ireland?'

Lord Malfoy's proclamation seemed well received, with some of the Aliquanta even casting their eyes down in shame. While the House of Lords in its entirety had been cast the blame, the Aliquanta especially had suffered greatly. With upcoming elections in the commons, Lord Macmillan had to ponder the situation deeply.

'A simple majority is required for the appointment of our liaison in Ireland,' said Chairman Dumbledore, 'in the interests of national unity I ask that you vote with your heads and not as your party leaders command. Voting for the first candidate in order of precedence shall be the white globe, while the second candidate shall be the black globe.'

Wild speculation from the press was quickly silenced by a disappointed glance from Dumbledore. The witches and wizards of the press corps, some not far out of Hogwarts felt as if they were dressed down for their behaviour and proceeded to watch the voting silently.

Done traditionally by the largest party first, the most senior members chief among all, the voting went as such matters usually did. The Nobilitas Triumvirs touched the white globes, trickled by many of the Nobilitas. Lord Malfoy smiled, watching the golden numbers altering as each Lord of their faction touched his wand to the white globe, casting his approval. Such a smile turned sour as the numbers had stopped upon reaching 100 and the newer lordships created in the 1700s altered the balance. An astonished glance from the press added to the confusion as quills scratched parchments as fast as amazed hands could carry them. Soon the balance was lost as the golden numbers now showed 99 to 31.

By tradition the smallest party followed to allow the fewer voices more attention. Cygnus prayed for dissensions within the Novus Veneficus. To be robbed of their victory by a single vote was not something he dared consider. To the Triumvirs' dismay, the Novus Veneficus stood as one behind Lord Potter, touching their wands to the black glove. The Aliquanta stood up, as the numbers continued to equal out. Ninety nine to fifty, ninety nine to sixty. To the Nobilitas horror' the numbers kept rising as the radically inclined Aliquanta voted for their own nominee and the pure moderates voted in their party's interest. The twenty-five generally conservative Aliquanta were the final hope for the Nobilitas.

Albus Dumbledore sighed in regret as ill favour swept the post from Lord Longbottom's capable hands. Five of the Aliquanta had betrayed their own party and voted for Orion Black. A mere five votes, but sufficient to tilt the balance in favour of the Nobilitas.

'The Lords have spoken,' said Dumbledore, 'As of today, Orion Black is the Magical Republic of Britannia's Magical Governor of Ireland, with all the trappings and privileges associated to the office, by a majority of 104 votes to 96. A runner has been dispatched to inform him of our request. Should Mister Black decline the assignment, as per the rule of law, the post will pass on to Lord Longbottom. The emergency session of the House of Lords is now ended.'

The gravel marked the end of the fight on the Palace floor, but the beginning of other, more dangerous disputes. Some of which ended in much more harm than the simple embarrassment of having lost the vote. The thirty one Lords who had betrayed their party at its time of need bandied together for the perceived protection numbers accorded them. Without a single word, the loyalists followed Lords Malfoy, Black and Lestrange out of the Hall and into the Warlock's Club across the Alley.

Lord Richard Potter, astute enough to realize that although he might have lost a battle, the war suddenly seemed achievable, walked to personally congratulate the Nobilitas. The irony did not fail to be remarked by the press as the stiff backed Lords of the Realm were in the company of Novus Veneficus rather than their own party.

* * *

_Meanwhile at Number 12 Grimmauld Place…_

Kreacher was busy pilling the possessions of Master Orion into large travelling trunks. Screams could be heard from the study downstairs, but Kreacher closed his ears. What the Master and Mistress discussed was not Kreacher's business. Strange for an elf, Kreacher had always read the papers after the Master and Mistress were done with them naturally.

How Kreacher would love to get his hands on the slimy necks of those traitorous thirty-one members. How he would love to sink his teeth into their flesh. The Mistress had but to give the word and Kreacher would leap to it.

The elf's insane mutterings did not seem to obstruct his work, however, as Master Orion's trunks were packed speedily and efficiently. Kreacher did not know how Master Orion could live without Kreacher to take care of his needs. Maybe he would have Irish House Elves. If they did not see to his master's needs Kreacher would wring their little necks as well.

'Orion I won't have it,' screamed Walpurga, not caring about who heard her.

'Walpurga dear,' replied Orion, calmly shuffling his papers. A Guard from the First Auror Regiment had arrived earlier this afternoon with the request from the House of Lords. 'one cannot simply refuse a nomination from the House of Lords. It is a splendid post, too, propelling our family even further in importance. I do not see your objections to it.'

'I will not go, Orion,' said Walpurga, 'I will not live in that dreadful place.' Orion looked shocked. There had not been love in their marriage in the beginning, merely the convenience of a good match, but in time, Walpurga and Orion had grown to care for each other. Not passionate love perhaps, but she had been at his side for a long time.

'That is naturally your choice, although I regret it,' spoke Orion bitterly, closing the dragon hide briefcase he used to carry his papers, 'I shall visit as often as I can. Perhaps if you can bear it for a few days you can bring the children to Creidhne for a few days over the spring holidays.'

'Orion,' said Walpurga as her husband moved to collect his belongings upstairs and depart for Ireland. 'Take care of yourself, I wouldn't wish to be left alone in the world.'

'Now why do you get such thoughts my dear,' said Orion, smiling, 'the Irish were smashed by our victorious Aurors. They are meek as sheep by now, probably. Take care of Sirius. For a while I thought that Druella and Cygnus would have a son, but he will be Lord Black one day.'

With those final words, Orion, followed by servants carrying his belongings and a few Auror Guards Disapparated for Creidhne.


	13. The Misfortune of Presumption

**A/N: Here is chapter thirteen, enjoy… On another note the story has exceeded 150 pages in Word. Rejoice!**

The mood of Creidhne did not impact upon Orion's good spirits as he strode through Freedom Boulevard in Lower Creidhne towards the fortress. For the first time he felt a sensation of utter liberation from past chains. His eyes rested on the devastation around him, and the sad, suspicious faces of the citizens as his guard surrounded him for the march to the Fortress, and yet his mind already formulated plans of reconstruction, reconciliation and progress. He felt like a painter faced with a fresh canvas, free to shape and twist it to his desires.

By the time he had past the broken gates of the Inner Fortress his mind was filled to the bursting with plans. Settling in would have to come later as Orion Black made straight for the former Meeting Hall of the Irish Magi Council, what was now the Office of the Magical Governor of Ireland.

His office had been far more important than the previous post of Observer and as such a suitable staff had awaited his arrival, presenting their briefings as soon as the Governor had made himself comfortable.

Orion touched the luxurious leather of the imposing armchair behind the ornate, large desk. Trappings suited for a ruler, and while Orion did not miss the significance behind them, it was not they that held his focus. His nervous secretary, Ignatius chattered about different matters and bureaucratic communications, but fell silent as Orion raised a hand from the office.

'Ignatius,' said Orion, bring me two Aurors from the outside.

'Yes, governor,' bowed the secretary, returning with two burly fellows, who looked strong enough, physically at least to tackle a troll.

'Perfect, Ignatius,' said Orion, then turning to the two Aurors of the guard, 'Gentlemen, I have my first executive order to give you. Remove the door to this office and hang it out from the battlements. If any ask, let the population now that the Governor's door is now always open for them to ask an audience.'

'Yes, governor,' bowed the higher ranking of the two, gesturing for his companion to help him in lifting the large oak door, helped by a near weightless charm and hung it from a gargoyle in the shape of a leprechaun that doted the fortress' inner battlements. The door was subject too much gossip and pointing by some in the crowd, but if the symbolism was lost on them, the proclamation that had been nailed to every pub door and lamppost in the fortress had cleared their mind by next morning.

While Creidhne Mirror characterized the governor's action as populist and dismissed his proclamation as demagogy, some in the population begun to take note, the traitorous thought that British rule would not be as dreadful as they had expected taking seed within their minds.

Further surprise awaited them, however, as the next day, Orion, and a team of construction workers drafted from the local population in and around Creidhne, could be seen on the streets of the fortress clearing the rubble and devastation of the war. Such amazements would not cease, however as the rubble on Freedom Boulevard was replaced with scaffolding and Wizard Constructors milling about like ants.

Such public works not only endeared the governor to the population, but also provided some much needed employment to the population, beginning the slow but steady progress of economic recovery in the war torn land. Owls strained their wings as they flew between Creidhne and Diagon Alley. It seemed the Irish Affair was turning from a disaster in the making to a positive conclusion. It seemed…

In the dark nights of Creidhne, an owl flew above the streets leading up to the inner fortress, her magically enhanced sense picking both the Ministry of Magic where she had been sent, but also the various rodents scattered in the muddy alleys below her. If the Avian brain Jupiter had deigned to give her had been a tad more complex, the significance of three well dressed wizards, treading through the filth of the alleys of lower Creidhne, looking furtively around and suddenly disappearing into a solid wall, would have raised a flag, but instead the bird flapped its powerful wings, and tasting the salty night air, crossed the sea for the long trek to Diagon Alley.

The next day, Orion was calmly surveying his latest familiar project, the construction of a new wing to the fortress in Creidhne.

'Ignatius, do you know how long I fought with the Ministry for them to allow this?' said Orion, looking proudly as the scaffolding was being torn down from the nearly completed annex.

'I do, governor, I wrote most of the letters,' said Ignatius, massaging his right hand.

'Sacrifices, Ignatius, sacrifices,' said Orion, barely paying attention to what his secretary was saying, his full attention dedicated to the building works. 'I tell you, the creation of a force of local Aurors will tie Britannia and Ireland together. If I can mix Irish Aurors with British Auror Officers and if they can…'

Orion never got to finish his statement, as the nearly completed Irish Auror Legion Barracks exploded from inside out with tremendous force.

'_Impervio!' _Orion's instincts served him well, as a gigantic boulder smashed itself against his shield, falling still at his feet. Similar shouts were heard, as the Aurors of the guard reacted to the situation instantly. Orion was in a state of shock for a second. Looking around, he saw Ignatius had not paid sufficient attention in his Defence classes, as a large marble statue representing a Thestral in flight had brought him closer to the earth than would have been normally possible. As the Aurors of the guards dragged him to the relative safety of the fortress itself, Orion remarked that the statue his young secretary was not as dead as he thought. The Thestral in flight theme had seemed to spare his rib cage, as the raised hooves kept the statue a small distance from the precious inner organs.

'Stop,' commanded Orion, 'we have to help him.'

'My governor, it's not safe,' spoke the Auror in a worried tone. 'They could be…

He never got to finish his statement as a sickly green light caught his words in mid stride. Orion paled at the familiar spell and ran for the fortress, his Auror Guards exchanging spells with concealed wizards. The duel was short but cruel, since the Aurors could not see from where they were fired upon until it was too late, but discipline and training prevailed, as they advanced steadily, scattering the rebels.

Others would not be so lucky, however. Ignoring Creidhne Mirror' propaganda and cries for resistance at all costs, the warnings of eternal occupation and other such shouts, the majority of British presence in Ireland was limited, due to governor's ideas, at architects, masons, guild representatives and instructors. Others would not be as fortunate as Irish Resistance bloodied the followers of Merlin. The sole Aurors were in Creidhne itself, where the rebels were scattered quickly, but the outlying provinces were often places of massacres, Merlin flag burnings, and the Leprechaun flag flying again.

Orion was furious, shouting curses at the Irish and whoever was unlucky enough to get in his path. With Ignatius missing, he picked the quill up himself, sat himself down at the large armchair and begun to scratch at parchment furiously.

_Dear Cousin,_

_It is my utter shame to report that the Irish were not as pacified as I had previously thought. My own assistant has been the victim of a strike on the new barracks I had created. Several Aurors died in my defence…_

As Aurors came by with more worrying reports from throughout the realm, more and more paragraphs described the atrocities, the numbers, the damage done…

Cygnus read the letter in shock. What had been the sole good news of the season had turned into the customary bloodbath that seemed to mark their lands as of late. Wasting no time in formalities, he merely grabbed a cloak and called for his elf.

'What can Famulus do for you, Master Cygnus?' spoke the old elf, absently arranging the folds of Cygnus' cloak. Lord Black irritably gestured him away.

'Firecall Abraxas and Dimitry immediately,' spoke Cygnus as he strode through the door. 'Tell them to meet me at my office in the Palace as soon as possible.'

'Certainly, Master Orion,' bowed the elf, but his words merely rebounded back against the closed door. 'Famulus does as he is told,' muttered the elf, making his way to the fireplace carved with thestrals.' After a quick chat with Dobby, who seemed to be sporting new injuries and Rasputin, the Lestrange family elf, Famulus headed back to the kitchens to supervise His Mistresses dinner. Druella's health was largely the reason Cygnus no longer held meetings at Ravensden, as her health aggravated daily.

The three Lords of the Realm marched through the corridors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, entered the office of Bartemius Crouch past his affronted secretary.

'Barty,' said Abraxas, 'we need to talk.' Looking at his secretary who protested that there was no appointment he added 'In private.'

'It is all right, Cornelia,' said Bartemius Crouch, 'close the door on your way out and cancel all my appointments for the afternoon.'

'As you wish Mr. Crouch,' huffed his assistant, sounding as if it where her idea in the first place.

'Now my lords,' said Bartemius, as the door closed and the privacy ward on the ancient oak hid their words, 'how may I be of assistance? Would you like some Firewhiskey?'

'You may dispense with the pleasantries, Mr. Crouch,' said Cygnus, as Dimitry seemed to regret losing the offer. 'We have some grave information we need to transmit, and we need you to take swift and judicious action to remedy it,' said Cygnus, handing Crouch the letter from Orion.

'The situation sounds horrifying,' said Barty, finishing the letter, 'but what can I do?'

'What can you do?' exploded Cygnus. 'You are the head of Magical Law Enforcement! Irish rebels strike at our government's representative and you ask what you can do? Must I tell you how to…'

'Cygnus,' spoke Abraxas, laying a hand on his friend's arm, 'Mr. Crouch you must excuse my friend. Naturally, when near relatives are involved the situation takes a much more personal touch, don't you think?'

'We merely wish you to send enough Aurors there to re-establish order,' chimed Dimitry in, causing Bartemius to freeze into place. The three Lords looked at him as if there was no question to which action could be taken, and yet he could not fully adhere to their wishes. Summoning the best tact he was capable of, Bartemius Crouch spoke.

'My Lords, surely you can understand me, and I sympathise with your situation Lord Black, I truly do, but I cannot pursue any action of such magnitude without the Minister's executive order.

'Surely you can, Mr. Crouch,' spoke Abraxas, 'Ireland is officially joined to Britannia. Would you need the Minister's executive order to send Aurors to ensure security at a Quidditch match? Surely your position grants you some leeway in decision-making.'

'If we must go over your head, we will Crouch,' spat Cygnus, 'but I, for one, have no wish to waste any more time than necessary. Do you want to be known as the Department Head who lost Ireland a second time?'

Bartemius seemed to consider the situation for what seemed like an eternity to Cygnus Black, but, firm resolve etched on his visage, he spoke, far more confidently than before.

'My lords, I see your point, and your suggestions are worthy of merit. However, I can only promise you one regiment for now. I will send Rufus Scrimgeour and the Thirteenth Regiment. If you can obtain an executive order and untie my hands, I promise you to send the crème de la crème of the Auror Corps in as many numbers as necessary.'

'That will suffice for now,' said Abraxas, rising from his chair, 'your allegiance will not be forgotten, Mr. Crouch.'

Bartemius wiped a thin sheet of sweat from his forehead, composing himself, before enchanting a parchment to fly towards Rufus' office, summoning him instantly to the Department Head's office.

Rufus Scrimgeour walked into one of the Barracks of the Auror Corps. Situated close to the Ministry's building itself, the barracks lacked any of the splendour the other buildings on Government Alley had. While the façade of the building was ornamented so as to not make a discrepancy with the rest, the interior was plain and utilitarian. Training rooms, bedrooms, not an ounce of space was wasted, although with the recent casualties, the Barracks seemed a bit empty. Enlistment was not up to usual standards, and there was a lack of Aurors

'Gentlemen,' said Rufus Scrimgeour, as he walked into the Thirteenth Regiment's Barracks, 'I hope you have not grown accustomed to your homes too much. We have marching orders. Ready your gear and be ready to depart in one hour.'

'You heard the legate,' roared Alastor Moody, 'Move, your wives have seen you enough for now. Time to earn the Ministry's Galleon lads!'

Alastor moved closer to Rufus as the Aurors scrambled to collect their belongings and write letters to whatever girls they had waiting for them.

'Mind telling me where we are going?' asked Alastor

'Ireland, old friend, back to Creidhne,' replied Rufus.

'What? Haven't we already brought the Irish on their feet?' said Alastor Moody, 'What more do we need to do that asks for such secrecy?'

'Constant Vigilance, Alastor,' laughed Rufus, 'The Governor was attacked by rouge groups. At the same time, co-ordinated attacks throughout the colony struck at Britannia's objectives, reconstruction efforts and so on. We are dealing with an organised rebellion and the Governor has asked for reinforcements.'

'Figures the nobility could not handle on their own,' hummed Alastor, 'Always calling for us plebs when they need us, but never show an ounce of gratitude after.'

'That is a dangerous way of thinking my friend,' warned Rufus, casting glances around.

'You should read his book,' said Alastor, a dreamy expression in his eyes replacing the stern mask.

'Book, what book? What are you droning about?' snapped Rufus, 'If you are not up to your wits for this mission tell me and I will appoint someone else.'

'No need legate,' said Alastor, snapping back to his usual self, 'forget I ever mentioned it.'

An awkward silence stretched between the two friends, interrupted by Alastor.

'I'll go see to the lads, legate,' saluted Alastor and walked away.

Igor, rushed to his Master's study, remembering at the last moment to knock. Once the customary 'Enter' had been heard, Igor opened the door into his Master's study.

'Igor,' said Lord Voldemort, practically buried underneath mountains of parchments, 'I was getting some work done. Yes…'

'Master, you said to be announced if there were any troop deployments from the Ministry,' said Igor, handling a freshly arrived letter. 'Our contact in the Thirteenth regiment announces they have been ordered to move within an hour, although he confesses to not knowing the destination.'

'Ireland, Igor, Ireland,' said Lord Voldemort, shocking Igor. 'Lord Voldemort always knows, Igor, but you did well to bring this to my attention. Thank you,' Lord Voldemort dismissed Igor with a wave of his hand, his attention once more concentrated onto his mountains of parchment.

Lord Voldemort pondered the situation. Only one regiment was not enough, but it was a start. From his own experience in Europe, Lord Voldemort knew however, how hard it was to root out rebels. Perhaps another regiment would be sent to reinforce the first and so on. Perhaps certain events could be orchestrated to favour such a course of action.

Looking in disgust at his cramped conditions, he put the Ministry's deployments out of his mind for now, and turned his attentions to more mundane events, and yet remarkably high on the priority list. He had trudged through ancient records and scrolls left by his ancestors and he believed he had finally obtained the ideal lost thread of knowledge.

Tonight, his followers, far more numerous as of late, due to new enrolment, largely credited to the wave of nationalism and war support, had gathered as was usual in the small garden to the rear of the house.

'Wizards and Witch,' intoned Lord Voldemort, 'I have called you tonight to restore some of the wrongness which infests our society. It is a small matter, compared to the gross injustice that festers the land, but it is of great importance for our cause. Don masks!'

As one, Lord Voldemort's followers donned the white masks that served to disguise their identity and spread fear amongst their victims. Dolohov, Rosier and Mulciber wore the golden masks that marked them as leaders in battles, while Lord Voldemort himself donned a gold mask. No differentiation was needed as their master could not be confounded with any other. At a mark from Lord Voldemort's hand, the group Disapparated.

Jonathan Stuart had a reason to be proud as he settled into a large armchair in his classically decorated living room. His large, ancient dwelling, some of the battlements still adorned with animated medieval magical defences suggested an ancient pureblood family, still caught in the isolationism and freight of past eras. A second, more careful look at the owner would dispel these notions rapidly, however. One might consider the wizard to be an imposing warlock perhaps, of great power and wisdom. A third look at the owner of the castle would dispel any such notions thoroughly, however, while another at the castle would reveal the defences to be merely collector items for a middle aged wizard with a hobby. His latest wife, a pretty blonde that looked as though not too long ago she still carried books around the ancient corridors of Hogwarts, stood besides him, poring over the newest Flourish and Bolts bestseller of the week.

The ordinary scene of family life, as well as the plain robes the couple wore seemed out of place with the opulent medieval drawing room. Stuart had always liked symbols of status. Having started as a mediocre Muggle-born student in Hogwarts did not bode well for his advancement in the Magical world. However, what Stuart lacked in magic he more than made up in acumen. After Hogwarts, through shrewd business sense and strange new methods, he had managed to amass a fortune enough to qualify him as a lesser ancient family. Still, all the galleons could not buy what Stuart desired most: respectability. Perhaps it was for such a reason he surrounded himself with trappings of what he would never bee, despite the mountains of galleons in his bank vault at Gringotts. When the Gamp family went bankrupt due to wasteful spending, society was amazed to note the transfer of the deeds of Gamp Castle to a relatively nobody on the social scale. Stuart's isolationism and paranoia would prove his undoing however. Gamp Castle was situated far away in the countryside, away from any sizeable muggle or wizard settlements. The ancient enchantments, dating from an age when one's family was either out of sight or the target of rival warlords made the castle not only unplottable, but virtually impossible to find without knowing the location.

The location of a rival Warlock's keep was the most sought after knowledge in the dark days prior to the creation of Hogwarts, and none but the most families had learned of more than a dozen. Slytherin was rumoured to hold more than that, however.

Lord Voldemort's followers appeared in a small wood far away from the castle. The easiest enchantments to maintain, anti-apparition wards had not allowed them to come closer. As per the rules of medieval engagement, the area around the castle was not only warded against transportation, but was also clear of any obstacles, allowing any opposing force to be in plain sight the entire time.

Such a fortress would have impeded even Lord Voldemort, had it been manned and battle ready. As the situation was now, under the cover of the cloudy night, the Dark Lord and his followers made his way at a brisk pace across the plains, up to the small fortress ahead. The lack of obstacles made the entire assembled force of his followers seem superfluous but Lord Voldemort had not attained the powers he enjoyed now through reckless courage, but through careful planning and suspicion at anything that moved on its own. Even some objects that were inanimate caught the attention of Lord Voldemort as his mind analysed all possible threats on what he considered a battlefield.

The others did not seem as concerned as their leader, however, and treated the mission as a mere night stroll on an alley leading to a castle. If not for the concealed faces and black robes, some might mistake their attitude for tourists. Except Gamp Castle had never seen a pale ghost of a tourist…

The tall, bronze doors were magically warded against intrusion, stood, tall and looming over the few wizards and witch. Removing his wand from the folds of his robes, Lord Voldemort strode forward, flicked his wand lazily sideways.

A jet of dark grey light shot forward from the wand. The doors glowed bright yellow for a second, looking as if they dared oppose the Dark Lord's will, but the white that signalled their doom appeared not much later, the double bronze doors blasting inwards with a horrible screech, Lord Voldemort crossing under the tall stone arch.

'Forward for the Dark Lord,' shouted Rosier, his voice muffled by the golden mask, as he drew his wand and pushed forward into the fortress. His assigned group followed instantly, while Dolohov and Mulciber, not to be outdone under the eyes of Lord Voldemort charged right after.

'John, darling, what was that,' asked his wife.

'I don't know Patricia,' said Stuart, his eyes taking in his pretty new wife, 'But if it makes you feel any better I'll go look.'

'Thank you,' said Patricia, suddenly feeling a slight chill, as she pulled up her shawl closer around her.

John's hand went to the door latch, carved with unicorns, opened the door to go downstairs, drawing his wand for light.

The sight that awaited him was not quite what he expected.

'_Omitto Animus!'_ said Lord Voldemort, his wand pointed at the mudblood in front of him. It generally offended him to use non lethal spells against his kind, but it was necessary for his actions.

John blinked once before collapsing in a heap, as if he had fainted suddenly, losing all conscious thought.

Patricia looked up at the sudden loud sound and begun to scream as wizards clad in black with covered faces entered with her husband levitated and motionless.

'_Silencio,'_ whispered Lord Voldemort, almost lovingly and suddenly Patricia's screams merely left her looking like a gaping toad. 'Dolohov, if you would be so kind as to awaken Mr. Stuart than perhaps, young Patricia will stop screaming and she may have her voice back.'

'Certainly, my lord,' said Antonin, raising his wand and pointing it at their prisoner. Patricia's eyes widened at that, and while Dolohov smiled nastily at her, the words coming out his mouth were harmless enough. '_Ennervate!'_

John Stuart gasped for breath as he rose; having felt as if entered alive for what seemed like hours instead of the mere minutes that had passed.

'Now, my dear,' said Lord Voldemort, twirling his yew wand in his fingers, 'If I were to restore your voice, do you promise to cease screaming. The sound disturbs me greatly, I am afraid.'

Patricia merely nodded, unable, as of yet to formulate words. At a signal from Lord Voldemort, Karkaroff deposed her of her wand, and uttered the words that undid the Dark Lord's barrier on her voice.

'Now, you have no need to fear us, my dear,' said Lord Voldemort, 'we merely wish to have a discussion with your husband, which I am sure will alter his views completely.'

'There's no money here,' said Patricia, looking close to tears and screams yet again, 'It's all at Gringotts and the goblins won't let you enter with him like this.'

'Now why would you come to such a conclusion my dear,' said Lord Voldemort, shaking his head slightly, 'Such sad times we live in, when every visitor is treated like a potential thief.'

Ignoring the confused look on Patricia's face, Lord Voldemort turned to John Stuart, firmly setting his wand in his right hand.

'_Imperio,'_ said Lord Voldemort, concentrated his thoughts and magic, entwining them as only a master deceiver was capable of, his own magic battling against Stuart's feeble response and his mind overpowering the weaker wizard's.

Stuart seemed to be in a great deal of pain, his eyes bulging out of their orbits. Suddenly the voice inside his head turned from dreadful and frightening to sweet and pleasant. It reminded him of his grandmother giving him Christmas Present. The voice altered rapidly, imitating, no becoming, his grandmother, telling him that if he were a good boy, he would receive a big present this Christmas. That could not be that difficult would it? All his grandmother wanted was to merely go on as he usually did, and simply not mention the strange wizards that were in his house. Now that was not so complicated, was it? In fact, John actually wanted to do it. It seemed like such a game, and it would give him presents too.

Lord Voldemort was focused intently upon his unwilling patient, his mind rapidly setting parameters and barriers, giving instructions and presumed rewards, forbidding some actions and encouraging others. As John's expression turned from pained to confused to smiling, Lord Voldemort ended the tendrils of magic.

'So glad we have had this talk, Mr. Stuart,' said Lord Voldemort. 'Certainly you can see my point of view now?'

Stuart did not say anything, merely attempted to pick himself up from the floor. The Carrows tried to nail them down, raising Lord Voldemort's ire. The idiotic twins were useful for canon fodder and for their cruelty, but their imbecility knew no bounds. How Lord Voldemort earned for more potent followers.

'Alecto, Amycus,' said Lord Voldemort, his voice carrying just a tiny bit of malice, 'Mr. Stuart has seen our point of view and is an honoured host.' The Carrows merely looked confused. 'Unhand him.' Lord Voldemort spoke a slightly bit more pronounced and the Carrows removed their hands immediately as if Stuart suddenly burned them.

John Stuart showed no signs of having noticed.

'John,' Patricia wailed from the other side of the room. 'John, are you all right?' Stuart merely ignored her completely and left the room closing the doors behind him. Patricia's cries threatened to burst again, so Lord Voldemort, wishing to spare his ears of more shrill assaults, signalled Rosier.

'Evan, Maltius, if you could escort Mrs. Stuart to the dungeons,' said Lord Voldemort, 'I doubt she wishes to be in the way.'

'Certainly, my lord,' replied the two, taking the now wailing Mrs. Stuart further down into the Castle's dungeons.

As soon as the salon was quite again, Lord Voldemort smiled slightly. Ever since the orphanage there was no sound other than loud wailing that annoyed him more.

'Gentlemen,' said Lord Voldemort, ignoring Alecto Carrow, 'today's matter was small and did not require your assistance. We have secured a more suitable location for our gatherings. From now on, when you are summoned, hopefully you will remember where to attend. Igor will handle the details of keying into the wards and such. Igor.'

John Stuart woke from the small bedroom he had used for sleeping. Without any conscious thought, he mechanically washed and dressed for work. Eating breakfast, just enough to maintain his exact present weight, he Disapparated for work.

'Mr. Stuart, good morning,' said a young woman dressed in business robes at the reception. His mind seemed to want to say a particular thing, warn her about something, but before any words could exit his mouth, an unknown presence snapped to it.

Mr. Stuart smiled. 'Good morning, Alicia. What business is there today?'

Although a different sort of business, unknowingly, Lord Voldemort went through the same ritual as Mr. Stuart, repeating what he had to do today and organising it by order of importance, time slot possibilities and personal preference and enjoyment. The knowledge would have angered Lord Voldemort greatly, but the Imperius Curse was not possession, and as such his morning was unspoiled.

Much pleased at his present surroundings, Lord Voldemort, covering his black hair and face with the hood of a cloak Disapparated for the seediest place of Wizarding Britain.

Someone who was not initiated into the mentality of underground magical criminal societies might see the crowds parting in front of a thin wizard, his features hidden by a dark cloak, as strange, but the worms and maggots of wizarding society knew in a dark corner of their mind that this was not someone to be trifled with. One of the hags, surprisingly good looking for such an establishment looked as if she might try her fortunes, but the lack of any embellishments on her potential customer's robes told her he was not worth the effort or the risk.

Lord Voldemort made his way into The Magi's Cup, the atmosphere seeming to drop several degrees at his entrance. None of the patrons seemed to notice, though, in a severe state of inebriation at such a late hour.

'Might I join you,' asked Lord Voldemort to a non descriptive man of obvious foreign origin.

'Certainly,' said the wizard, sensing a potential business opportunity. Although the wizard's clothes did not suggest a wealthy patron, clothes were deceiving on Knockturn Alley. The most opulent robe might clothe a beggar and the most humble covering might conceal a Prince. 'How may I be of assistance, Mr…?'

'Lord Voldemort, Roberto, Lord Voldemort,' said the wizard, extending his hand. 'So pleased to make your acquaintance.'

X


	14. The Dragon Bled by Mice

**Chapter XIV The Dragon Bled by Mice**

**A/N: This chapter marks the end of the three cramped, disorganised chapters that have come out as of late. From now on we are back at the plan I have made at the beginning of the story, in order so I may I remain organised. I apologise, but I need to balance the story with certain chronological requirements, so every one is actually dead/alive by the time they need to be and is born in the appropriate year.**

**Reviews are appreciated, naturally… It's good for the soul, remember.**

'Untold savageries conducted against our citizens,' read Abraxas, 'A bloodbath… British control outside Creidhne is practically inexistent. Minister surely you understand the need for more Aurors to be sent to Ireland.'

'Send more Aurors, Lord Malfoy?' asked Millicent, 'I have not sent a single Auror to Ireland, if I may remind you so.'

'Certainly there is no need to be caught on technicalities,' replied Lord Malfoy, his voice turning slightly colder, 'I have merely acted on your behalf in making Mr. Crouch understand the severity of the situation.'

'Lord Malfoy,' replied the Minister, her voice returning to its usual subdued state, upon remembering on whom exactly her post rested on, 'I can certainly sympathize, but the truth is I do not have the resources you ask for. Sending away as many regiments as you ask would leave the mainland empty. We would not even have enough Aurors to police the streets. And Merlin knows we have enough problems as it is to handle.'

'Such issues were raised, Minister, naturally,' said Lord Malfoy, handing her a thick parchment 'My colleagues and I have taken the liberty of drafting a resolution to solve that very matter. The entire technical details are explained in full, but we propose the creation of a new force, these Hit Wizards as Lord Lestrange has coined them for policing and protecting the mainland.'

'Untrained recruits is what you would have, Lord Malfoy,' replied the Minister, her eyes rapidly scanning the parchment she had been given.

'Certainly it would take some time for the new force to assert itself and work together as a cohesive unit,' replied Abraxas, growing increasingly irritated by how difficult the Minister was becoming as of late, 'but surely you see the wisdom behind it. By sending our most elite troops to where their skill is needed, we are using the best wand for the job. We do not need Veterans to keep Quidditch matches from turning into riots.'

'I wish I could help you, Lord Malfoy,' replied the Minister slowly, choosing her words slowly so as to not cause offence, 'but to be frank, this would never pass in the Commons. And I need not remind you it falls under their jurisdiction.'

'Surely in times of crisis, the Minister may make bold decisions without subjecting them to voting in the commons,' replied Lord Malfoy, demeaning the lower house. 'I have no wish to be uncouth, but may I also point out that the Nobilitas are what is keeping you in the Minister's seat.'

Millicent turned slightly green at hearing the ultimatum coming out from the Malfoy patriarch's mouth. She had known that the moment would come one day, but the ever polite Lord of the realm had truly waited for a grand situation to make the situation plain.

'I will see what I can do,' replied Millicent in a resigned tone.

'That is all one can ask for,' replied Lord Malfoy, moving to leave, turning around for one last time. 'Do not be disenchanted Minister, you are taking the right action. Good day, Minister.'

'Good day, Lord Malfoy.' As the door closed, the Minister saw fit to mutter between her teeth, 'as if that could ever be in these dark times.'

The students in the Great Hall at Hogwarts seemed to share none of the concerns of the outside world. This environment was what suited Headmaster Dumbledore best. Here amongst the young minds, did he truly feel at ease. Shaping such young minds for a better future of Wizard kind was one of Dumbledore's personal crusades, and the one he enjoyed most. The school was calm and life seemed to be going as usual. The seven year Ravenclaws seemed white with worry of the upcoming exams, while in contrast the Slytherins seemed to be in inordinate good cheer. Lucius had his arm around young Narcissa and even the normally intemperate Bellatrix seemed in good cheer. Dumbledore's calm paradise was interrupted by a whisper from Argus Filch, the caretaker. Dumbledore was glad for the advance warning as the great doors of the hall suddenly opened to allow an Auror of the Guard dressed in the red robes embroidered with the seal of Merlin, striding confidently to the raised teacher table. Several of the elder students seemed to point in admiration, and Dumbledore thought, even envy. The Auror profession always seemed to be set high in the students' choices of career; though the stringent entry requirements meant a select few students each year joined the Auror Academy on Government Alley. The good pay certainly helped motivate some.

'Headmaster Dumbledore,' said the Auror, producing an official parchment bearing the seal of the Minister's office, 'here are my credentials. If I may address the students?'

'Certainly,' said Dumbledore, hands stretching out to grab the parchment. Although his tone was calm and his face was smiling, Dumbledore's never resting mind raced frantically. An announcement from the Ministry in Hogwarts? And without his knowledge. That generally was a bad omen for anything, but especially when it involved Aurors of late. What mistakes Dumbledore had made in allowing Millicent to fall in Lord Malfoy's claws, the Headmaster did not intend to repeat with her replacement.

'Students,' said the Headmaster, rising from his throne like chair, 'the Auror Guard has an announcement to make. I pray you all listen calmly and in quiet. Even you Mr. Potter,' Dumbledore added as a later thought.

'Fellow wizards and witches,' said the Auror Guard, turning around to face the four house tables, 'As you are aware by now, our great nation is under terrible strain. The Ministry calls upon you to do your duty to the nation at its time of need. Britannia needs able wands who are willing to leap to its defence, now more than ever. As of five hours ago the Minister has signed an executive order detailing the creation of a new corps; Hit Wizards, created especially for police duties and homeland security. I have been sent to train potential recruits in their final year, so they may be able to better serve our nation. In her wisdom the Minister has lowered the recruitments for the Hit Wizards, an Exceeds Expectations in Defence Against the Dark Arts being the sole prerequisite for entry. We are excited about this new organisation and changed our policy to allow for more citizens to be able to join. The Ministry will handle training and everything necessary to best equip you to do your duty.'

Some of the brighter students decidedly stopped paying attention after the lower requirements had been mentioned, but the vast bulk, the mediocre, the ones who had always dreamed of being an Auror but were never talented enough soaked the Auror Guard's words down like warm butterbeer on a cold winter day. Ted Tonks soaked the words down as if they were preciously smuggled Firewhiskey for an underage student.

The same announcement was read and posted in pubs throughout the realm, especially in poorer regions, where the emphasis was less on relaxed entry barriers but more on the generous pay.

'I have to congratulate you, Lord Malfoy,' said Lord Potter, in a chance encounter in the Palace hallways, 'You have managed to raise a small army, the equivalent of five Auror regiments, all without the bill even mentioned in the Commons.'

'Thank you Lord Potter,' replied Abraxas, his cane beating a rhythm on the marble floor, 'I am glad to see you take our nation's concerns so to heart. One can only hope to aspire to such devotion.'

'Thank you Lord Malfoy,' said Richard Potter, 'I certainly wish everyone was as focused on serving the common good of _all_ witches and wizards.'

Ted Tonks walked with Andromeda in Hogsmeade, heading towards the Three Broomsticks. She had tried to appear remotely interested, but Ted's dreams of joining the Hit Wizards to support his soon to be family did not seem as glorious to her as he seemed to portray it. Even as her belly was growing, and some of the more traditional professors looked on with disapproval, she did not regret her decision one bit, staring defiantly at anyone who dared suggest otherwise. Her family had erased her from the family tree, refusing to even accept her existence, but that was not what hurt most. Bellatrix he expected, her father's fury she could handle, her mother's indifference and disdain she was used to, but her younger sister abandoning her she found hardest to adjust to. Although she had never been Narcissa's favourite, Bellatrix holding that position, she had hoped Narcissa would at least be willing to see her sister every now and then.

Enamoured with that dreadful Lucius Malfoy, however, it seems as if Andromeda was truly alone in the world. No. Not alone. She had Ted now, and that was all that mattered.

'Sorry Ted, what were you saying?' asked Andromeda, smiling at her future husband

'I was thinking maybe we should get a place in Hogsmeade once I am discharged from the barracks for training and you graduate,' said Ted.

'I won't graduate, Ted,' said Andromeda, 'Dumbledore can only do so much. I will be allowed to finish the sixth year, but no more. Already, some teachers are complaining that I am bringing Hogwarts into disrepute.'

'But Andromeda…' He didn't get a chance to finish as Andromeda threw him down to the floor, his face coming close to some unidentified faeces. Ted felt as if he would throw up as a jet of green light whizzed past his previous location, setting fire to a bush on the side of the Hogsmeade Road. In desperation Andromeda covered Ted with her body.

Igor cursed from the woods, damning the foolish girl for noticing. Surely, white robes had not been the _most_ appropriate choice for hiding in a forest, but apparently they were the new craze in Lutetia, and Igor had not considered wearing anything else for such a monumental day. Seeing teachers run from the castle, he made up his mind and Disapparated. His orders had been clear. 'Kill the boy. Let no harm come to the girl.' There would be other chances.

Lord Voldemort awaited Karkaroff's return eagerly. Ted Tonks' elimination would prove essential to his plans of ensnaring Bellatrix Black. Like a chess master, his mind had already mapped out his movements in advance and the possible responses of his opponents. Igor striding through the doors, seemed to damper his mood slightly, as the exceedingly vain wizard did not seem to be cloaked in triumph.

'My lord,' said Igor Karkaroff, already making up possible excuses, 'I have failed in my mission. The foolish girl covered the mudblood with her own body. I had no way of killing him without revealing my cover.'

Lord Voldemort gnashed his teeth. One could never leave such matters to insignificant underlings. To add to his irritation horrible screams could be heard from down the dungeon.

'We will discuss your _failures_ at a later date, Igor,' said Lord Voldemort, carefully enunciating each word. 'For now see why Mrs. Stuart continues to torment me with her screams. I would have thought the courtesy of comfort I accorded her would have sufficed.'

'Yes, my lord,' bowed Igor, glad to have escaped further dressing downs.

Igor returned with one of the nondescript former criminals that filled the lower ranks of Lord Voldemort's followers, in a somewhat state of undress.

'What is the meaning of this, Igor?' asked Lord Voldemort, growing more and more irritated at the consistent interruptions to his peace.

'You have sent me to investigate the cause of disturbance, my lord,' said Igor, 'this lowly scum was raping Mrs. Stuart in the dungeon. That was the reason for her screams. I have brought him to you to answer for his actions.'

'Summon our followers, Igor,' said Lord Voldemort, recognising the opportunity for setting an example. The lowly scum looked confused, making to leave.

'I did not give you permission to leave,' said Lord Voldemort, 'Mrs. Stuart was to be awarded every comfort despite her sudden change of living conditions.'

'My Lord, I…,' said the wizard.

'I did not give you permission to speak,' said Lord Voldemort, drawing his wand to Igor's surprise. _'Crucio!'_

The follower earned a small measure of punishment at the Dark Lord's wand as he writhed on the floor, immeasurable pain raking his body. The rather abrupt shift from pleasure to pain did not help his state of general confusion, as the Dark Lord ended the spell.

'We shall await our audience,' said Lord Voldemort, twirling his wand in his fingers. 'Remain where you are and do not presume to speak, filth.'

Igor had been prompt in his summons, as the assembled followers stood in the drawing room of the castle. Lord Voldemort raised himself from the tall armchair near the fireplace, turning around to face them.

'Perhaps, I had not been clear enough in my intentions,' said Lord Voldemort, adopting a mask of disappointment, 'or careful enough in selecting the wizards who would restore our society to its glory.' Confusion dawned on his followers' faces, each considering his own faults and making excuses for such faults.

'This filth here, who shall remain unnamed, for beasts receive not names,' said Lord Voldemort, 'has raped Mrs. Stuart in the dungeon. Let me ask if any of you consider such conduct appropriate for a pureblood?' None of them made a move to comment, not even the rapist' own friends, although some of them adopted faces of guilt. Certainly such a crime was not a foreign concept to some of them.

'Regardless,' said Lord Voldemort, pacing the chamber, 'I do not consider such conduct appropriate. We are saviours of the realm, not common thugs. Mrs. Stuart's situation was regrettable but necessary. That does not mean we must add to the unfortunate situation.'

'Let it be clear today,' said Lord Voldemort, 'that such actions are not permitted, and will be punished accordingly. A Herbologist must first kill the weeds to grow useful plants.'

'_Crucio!' _said Lord Voldemort softly, the tendrils of magic connecting with the condemned's body, a sharp reminder of his earlier pain.

Lord Voldemort held the curse for a full minute, careful enough not to break the mind of his former follower.

'Each of you will take your turn,' said Lord Voldemort, 'to deliver appropriate justice.'

By the time the entire contingent was done with the poor soul, he was lacking several parts of his body, his skin had been ripped apart from his flesh, revealing raw, bloodied tissue, his eyes had been boiled and every piece of hair from his body had been painfully extracted with magic. Surprisingly, enough he was still alive after all the torment. Maltius Mulciber, the last of the ad-hoc jury, at a nod from the Dark Lord spoke the two words that ended his life.

The body had been thrown in the dog kennels that Stuart had kept. Lord Voldemort had not been quite accustomed to taking care of pets, not being a great fan of such animals, and had forgotten to feed them for several days already. The huge Laconian Hounds proceeded to rip apart the remains and digest them. Looking from the balcony in the inner courtyard at the kennels, Lord Voldemort had to concede that dogs did have their uses after all.

Meanwhile in Creidhne…

'We need to take to field immediately,' said Orion, a map of Magical Ireland spread in front of him and Rufus Scrimgeour.

'Governor,' said Rufus, 'we do not have enough Aurors to cover the entire land and defend Creidhne from future assaults by the Resistance.'

'Not enough Aurors, Legate?' said Orion in outrage, 'you have eight regiments at your disposal. If we divide Ireland into seven staging grounds and keep the Thirteenth regiment in Creidhne we can crush this pitiful rebellion in a week.'

'With all due respect, governor,' said Rufus Scrimgeour, 'I disagree. A single regiment cannot possibly cover such a large area. This is not a pitched battle we are fighting. We need to be wary of sending troops without sufficient eyes and wands to root out even the best hidden rebel.'

'Legate I tire of your reluctance,' said Orion, slamming his fist on the map, 'You have your orders and I expect to see them fulfilled to the best of your ability and with your customary speedy efficiency.'

'As you command, governor,' said Rufus, bowing and exiting the chamber. Alastor was not going to like it a single bit. Hades, he didn't like it either, but it was his duty to carry out orders. The ranks needed to see the chain of command intact.

'You are sending our boys out to their deaths,' said Alastor, watching the seven regiments assembled in the fortress courtyard.

'The lads are well trained, Alastor,' said Rufus, gripping the stone handrail, 'I have every confidence they will return triumphant.'

'Save your speeches for the government, Rufus,' said Alastor, turning around and leaving, 'I am going with them. They deserve that at least.'

The Aurors marched through a small village, eyes alert at movement around them, Several Aurors were posted up in the skies on brooms, searching the roof tops for hidden rebels. An informant had told them that this village was the location of a Rebel fist, a unit of one hundred rebels governed by a representative of the Irish Liberation Council. The sub-legate had ordered the Aurors of the Third Regiment to apprehend those responsible. Under the martial law imposed from Diagon Alley and enforced by Governor Black, any who resisted were to be executed on spot, while those who surrendered taken for interrogation. The Irish had heard of such interrogations and there seemed to be few who surrendered these days. That suited John Dawlish just fine. A young Auror, he had risen rapidly through the ranks and now commanded a fifth of a Regiment.

An Auror approached Dawlish at the front, to make his report.

'Sir, there is no movement in the air or on the ground,' said the Auror, 'It looks as if the informant was deceiving us.

'Signal the scouts in the air to land,' said Dawlish. 'We have seen enough. Our "informant" will pay for making us lose sleep over this.' Laughter rang through the ranks as they heard their officer. One of his lieutenants sent red sparks up in the air and the brooms begun their descent, the ten Auror Scouts landing as one on the hard packed dirt.

'Did you see anything from up there?' asked Dawlish.

'No sir, clear as Ministry corridors at the weekend,' replied the Auror.

Dawlish ignored the casual jab against the Ministry, though it had begun to worry some of his superiors. Apparently a book was circulating amongst the ranks that said a great many things about the Ministry and the House of Lords. There were no outstanding orders on that, and the Aurors always complained while on campaign, so Dawlish saw no reason to discipline the young scout. He will learn the small subtleties of life in due time.

'All right,' said Dawlish, 'Disapparate on my mark.'

'Sir,' shouted one of the Aurors, 'ahead of you!'

As Dawlish turned around, he saw the reason for the Auror's warning. Two massive trolls were coming at them, their clubs swinging ferociously in the air.

'You have good eyes, lad. Do you think these are the leaders of the Irish Resistance, command warned us about?' asked Dawlish, receiving bouts of laughter in return. 'Like at the Academy, gentlemen, Killing Curse volley on my mark.'

The Aurors quickly got into position, forming ranks. First rank bend on one knee, the second rank standing tall, all of them taking aim at the two charging trolls.

'Ready?' said Dawlish, he himself following his training to the letter, 'Aim!'

'_Spiculum ferrum!' _roared a voice to the left of the trolls. Dawlish looked surprised for a second turning to fright as he recognized the spell. 'Shi…'

He didn't get to finish the command as iron darts, rushing at the speed of a charging unicorn ripped through his neat ranks. Closely packed Aurors ensured that a single dart did not only strike one man, but penetrated and ripped through the flesh of his comrade behind. In cruel irony, as the Aurors, rose, many of them missing limbs and several remaining on the ground, the two supposed leaders of the local rebels smashed into the remaining Aurors. Dawlish was bleeding from his right arm, but flexing his arm he saw he could still wave a wand. Others were not so lucky. The scout who had criticised the Ministry had an iron dart poking from his eye to the rear of his skull. Several had ripped limbs. Staring at the devastation around him, Dawlish felt the cold breath of death on him as the trolls ripped through the remaining Aurors.

'Retreat,' shouted Dawlish at the top of his lungs, as more spells begun to fly from all directions towards his ragged remains of a fifth. Aurors begun to Disapparate, Dawlish staying in the field, awaiting all of them to get to safety first. An officer always left the field last, even in retreat. Dawlish counted a pitiful twenty-two Disapparating, many of them grievously wounded. Sending a last Killing Curse at one of the trolls, not looking to see if it hit, Dawlish fixed the destination in his mind, prepared to force the magic to transport him there and then he passed out.

In the governor's office in Creidhne Fortress the mood was turning sour every day. The rebels had proved most elusive and casualties were beginning to mount. Aurors executed caught rebels on spot, but they seemed to be hiding like maggots in the ground. An Auror Squad had even been knifed by children in a village! Orion damned the day he had accepted this assignment. He damned the reason for accepting it and most of all he damned the Irish for insulting his good intentions.

'Sir you should see this,' said an Auror to Legate Scrimgeour.

An Auror had appeared out of thin air and was walking the fields, heading up to the fortress of Creidhne. His clothes were partially torn; he had no wand and was bleeding from several wounds. He did not quite make it to the gate as he collapsed several metres away.

'Get him to the infirmary,' snapped Rufus, disapparating to his position. He recognized the Auror. John Dawlish, an officer of the Third Regiment, presumed dead in an apprehension mission several weeks ago. He had received the Order of Merlin, Third Class, posthumously which had been sent home to his family.

'Dawlish, what happened,' asked Rufus, holding his head up.

'Sir,' chocked Dawlish, spitting blood on Rufus' sleeves, 'they are coming, sir, we must leave at once.' Dawlish sounded terrified, his eyes darting around as if looking for hidden enemies.

'There, there lad, you're amongst friends now,' said Rufus, casting a few diagnosis charms, the extent of his medical ability. 'Who's coming and why must we leave?'

'The Irish, sir,' said Dawlish cryptically, just before collapsing. The Healers of the Thirteenth Regiment appeared on cue, taking him to the Field Infirmary in the Fortress. Dawlish had appeared to be tortured severely for information, then portkeyed outside Creidhne and make to walk the distance. His wand had been confiscated, alongside with all his other belongings.

Rufus made his way towards the fortress, entering the Governor's Office. Orion Black was pouring over maps, as usual, regretting his assignment as of late. After several assassination attempts he had grown paranoid and had two of the largest Aurors Rufus had ever seen posted outside his door at all times. He barely ate anything nowadays out of fear of poison, and had grown to regret being named to his grandiose post. Rufus could not blame him the slightest.

'Legate,' said Orion, raising his eyes, 'What brings you here?'

'Sir, Auror Dawlish which we have previously thought dead, has returned with a warning,' said Rufus, 'His mind does not seem entirely intact. He might have been subject to aggressive Legilimency. We must assume at least some of our plans are compromised.'

'I see,' said Orion, 'That is regrettable, naturally; however his survival is joyous news. I will contact his family personally. It would be the sole good news I have owled back to Britannia in a while.'

'Sir,' said Rufus, 'he also babbled a warning.'

'A warning?'

'He said they are coming, the Irish are coming, we must leave", repeated Rufus, 'I recommend we call back all regiments inside the Fortress. We must reinforce for an Irish attack on the capital.'

'Recall them, Legate?' asked Orion, 'for the deluded words of a wizard whose mind is perhaps not entirely sane anymore?'

'Sir I have a bad feeling about this,' said Rufus.

'Your feelings are irrelevant, Legate Scrimgeour,' said Orion, in a tone that belayed any further arguments, 'I will not loose whatever hold we have on the provinces on such poor intelligence and superstition. Leave me.'

'Certainly, governor,' said Rufus, bowing before exiting the room. He had come close to losing his nerve, but he had not climbed in the ranks by shouting at his superiors. That did not make him abandon the idea completely. Bound by the governor's orders, as he was, he still put all the Aurors of the Thirteenth Regiment on alert, doubled the patrols on the walls and put as many scouts as he had in the air. Rufus would not be caught surprised, no matter the governor's wishes.

As the witching hour came and went, it seemed as if the Governor was correct, and his feelings were nothing more than superstitions. As he was prepared to finish his inspections on the wall and retire for the night, the sound of massive apparitions outside the warded fortress sent him to full alert.

'Send a runner to rouse the entire regiment,' snapped Rufus, 'tell them to be here in five minutes.' Seeing the frightened faces of the Aurors around him at the large numbers of Irish assembled on the plain, Rufus saw fit to calm them.

'Relax, lads,' said the Legate, 'They are merely militia and we are standing on warded walls.' His words seem to reassure some of the Aurors, but it was the Thirteenth regiment who had seen the usefulness of the warded wall in the first battle.

True to their training and discipline, the entire Thirteenth Auror Regiment was raised and wands drawn on the wall, awaiting the Legate's command. Not willing to repeat past mistakes, even those of his enemies, the Regiment was spread out, half at the gate, and half arranged on the wall. For all his innovative thinking however, Legate Scrimgeour was still a product of the Auror Academy on Government Alley, which one hundred years later still followed "A Treatise on Magical Military Tactics" by Lord Charlus Potter. Aurors were arranged into ranks, volleys of spells readied to be fired.

The Irish rebels, in contrast, where in loose formations, dressed in variable different robes, and each man had his own favourite spell on his lips. Their leader was a particularly tall former Irish Auror, holding a deadly looking wand, sickly green light pooled at its tip.

Rufus waited until the Irish mass advanced at the maximum distance, raised his wand and shouted, 'Killing Curse Volley!'

As one, the Aurors, shouted 'Avada Kedavra!', jets of deadly green light forming gaps in the Irish mass. However, due to the dispersed nature of the Irish rebels, fewer strikes found their target than they would have if the opponent were a British formation. Suddenly, the lead Irish had reached their own casting distance. Shouting plain curses at the enemy, the leader stepped in front and screamed 'Forward!'

'_Ligament Traho!' _shouted the leader, a silver rope extending to the British ranks, grabbing several, pulling them down from their posts on the wall. One seemed to make it intact; however another had cracked his head against a stone at the base of the wall, while the third's legs looked to stick out at odd angles. Several Irish rebels had spotted them and three Killing Curses struck out, hitting even the dead Auror. One could never be too sure an enemy was dead, after all.

The massive blob that was the Irish resistance's army split suddenly in two, one half heading towards the gate, rapid, powerful blasting curses illuminating the wards. One lucky shot broke through the wards, ripping the wood underneath.

'_Fiendyfire!'_ the Irish Leader said, possessed flames jumping at the wood like drunk merpeople upon intruders, fiery limbs devouring dry wood. Soon the wooden gates were mere tinder. The Irish made to push forward, but the cramped spaces did not bode well for their safety. A killing curse volley ripped through the first two ranks, until the Irish had closed in and any hope of organised casting was abandoned, as the fight turned to personal duels.

Although their élan could not be brought to fault and their strange tactics had initially tipped the scales of Mars on their side, with time discipline begun to come through, Red cloaked Aurors pushing back militia. The Leader stood pacing on a small stone outcrop. He had specific orders, and was willing to die here to accomplish them. To the surprise of the British side, large fireworks begun to explode above the Fortress in Creidhne, a particular large one in the shape of a leprechaun causing cheers to emerge from the Irish Ranks. The leader permitted himself a small smile. The first step for Ireland's liberation had been taken.

'Mission accomplished lads!' shouted the leader, 'Retreat!'

To Rufus' amazement, the Irish suddenly disengaged and ran for their lives. The Aurors seemed intent on pursuing, but fearing a trap, Rufus held them in check. He still could not shake a bad feeling, however. Fireworks? And they retreated in the middle of what seemed an even fight for now?

'Legate, Legate,' shouted a runner from the fortress.

-To be Continued-

Damn, I wonder what happened? Rest calm fellow readers for the truth will be revealed soon...


	15. Death and New Life

**Chapter XV Death and New Life**

**A/N:** **So after god knows how many years this story makes a reborn from the ashes and a new chapter comes out. The heavens must have shattered and a multitude of twins born across the land!**

**Actually, I have recently watched the new HP film, and some of the aspects of the film which I disliked renewed an interest in writing my "own" version. For those who enjoyed the story, a new instalment, for those who didn't some new source for hatred.**

**As usual, "to review is not murder, it is the path to Heaven!"**

Both the Houses of Lords and Commons were gathered at the Old Hall of the Ministry of Magic for the sombre day's affairs. What had seemed before a revival of the nation, a renaissance of power had now turned into a disaster. While a few days ago parades were held and pints were raised for Britannia Triumphant, the papers raging about how the Magical Republic of Britannia was back on the proper path, nowadays a veil seemed to be draped around the nation.

A series of loud cracks signalled the arrival of the procession. An ebony casket, inlaid with ivory bore the body of the Magical Governor of Ireland, Orion Black, carried on the shoulders of the Auror Guard, in parade robes with black armbands signalling their mourning. The Merlin flag flew at half banner above the Palace of Lords and Commons.

The national anthem blared from the fanfare as the body was carried into the Old Hall, to remain under guard for one day, before being carried away into the Necropolis under-the-Alley. Orion Black's body would be laid to rest amongst other Great Witches and Wizards, for he had died in office and would sleep his eternal rest in stone with Ministers of Magic, Famous Generals and Lords of the realm.

In the middle of the procession, dressed in robes of midnight black, stood Walpurga Black, her normally loud and obnoxious son quiet for once, while the younger wept openly. Regulus was merely sixteen and was deeply affected by his father's death, but such attitudes were not dignified in public.

'Get a hold of yourself, Regulus,' said Walpurga crisply. 'Now more than ever we need to show dignity and not weakness.'

Regulus wiped his tears with the back of his hand, obediently. His mind seemed distraught with panic, but a glint of seriousness appeared in his still childish eyes. Those bastards would pay for what they had done to his father.

'Mother, can't you give him a rest,' snapped Sirius, shooting daggers at the Black widow. While Sirius had not perhaps cared for his father's views that didn't mean he was completely oblivious to his family's fate. In Regulus he saw a chance for a new Black family.

'Be quiet Sirius,' said Walpurga, tired at her heir's constant attitude problems 'now is not the time.'

The Lord Black apparent snapped his jaw shut, although his eyes promised that disputes would not end here. As the procession passed her, and the select few that would accompany Orion into the Old Hall begun to move forward, Abraxas made his way towards Walpurga.

'Mrs. Black,' said Abraxas, bowing his head slightly, 'I cannot say how sorry I am for your loss. Wizard-kind has sustained a terrible blow. If there is anything I can do, do not hesitate to contact me, please.'

'Oh be silent, Abraxas,' shrilled Walpurga, drawing some stares from those closest to her. 'It was _you_.' She whispered cryptically. 'You killed him.'

'Madam, I assure you,' said Lord Malfoy, 'You are mistaken. Orion Black was slaughtered by Irish rebels in the attack. He fought bravely and took many traitors with him to the grave.'

'Don't contort your words at me, as you usually do, Abraxas,' said Walpurga, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, 'It was you and Cygnus. You sent him there, to that wretched place like a lamb for the slaughter.'

'Madam you are unwell to accuse us so,' said Abraxas, bowing his head uncomfortably, 'but I forgive your words for they are spoken in grief. Good day.'

Under normal circumstances, the funeral procession would have been followed by a remembrance meal at Grimmauld Place, with close family in attendance. However, the nature of the day made such a venture impossible. As the Governor's body was deposed in the Old Hall, and the embalmers placed their Stasis Charms for preservation, the crowd made their way rapidly for their homes to change. Soon the Hall was empty save for the four Auror Guards assuring that the body would not be desecrated and Walpurga, Sirius and Regulus.

'Mother, aren't we supposed to be at Hogwarts?' asked Regulus, snapping Walpurga out of her thoughts.

'Yes dear,' said Walpurga, with one last glance at her husband's body as she made her way back to the Carriage.

_Gamp Castle_

Roberto concealed his unease at the meeting that was to follow while crossing the tall vaulted doors of Gamp Castle. One did not consider the eccentricities of his clients when activating in such a field of work, but Lord Voldemort's eccentricities simply outstretched the limits of mortal imagination. However, it was not as if Roberto, whose own life valued more to him than any previous loyalties to Lord Black was himself the model of purity. Being escorted by what were clearly guards with concealed faces, Roberto swallowed with some difficulty before entering the lair of power in Gamp Castle.

While there had been some redecorating, other priorities had kept Lord Voldemort from making the place as comfortable as his previous study had been. Always attentive, Igor Karkaroff knocked discreetly on the door, before a cold, sharp 'Enter!' signalled permission to approach his master.

'My Lord,' said Igor, bowing to the waist, his long white robes gathering dust from the upswept floors. 'A certain Roberto, he would not give his family name, is here to see you. I was just about to have him Obliviated and cast aside, but he mentioned a strange phrase.' Seemingly not even service to the Dark Lord would be enough to change Roberto's inclination towards strange pass phrases.

'Am I to be bothered by every lunatic, from here to Diagon Alley, then, Igor,' said Lord Voldemort, fixating his lieutenant with a cold gaze.

'Certainly not, master,' said Igor, a sheen of perspiration appearing on his forehead, despite the expensive cooling charms on his robes. 'I shall have him Obliviated immediately.'

'Out of curiosity, Igor,' said Lord Voldemort, prolonging the terror, 'what did the man say?'

'A goat's stomach erupting from a snake bladder catches the cockerel unaware, my lord,' said Igor, afraid at upsetting his master with such nonsense.

'Very well, Igor, you may let him in,' gestured Lord Voldemort towards the door, Igor's eyes widening even more than his previous fright allowed him.

'My Lord Voldemort,' said Roberto, bowing slightly from the waist as he entered the presence of his current employer, 'Sorry to bother you at such late an hour, but this business grows best in the cloak of the night, so to say.'

'Nonsense Roberto,' said Lord Voldemort, adopting a charming manner, 'take a seat please. Would you care for some wine? From your homeland I believe.'

'Yes, thank you my lord,' said Roberto, as Lord Voldemort gestured for two servants to pour wine in two elongated goblets, decorated in an Aquarian motif, with two intertwined mermaids holding the goblet up.

'The wine came with the property we have… acquired,' said Lord Voldemort, in uncharacteristic chatter, 'Much can be blamed on Mr. Stuart, but the man _had_ good taste in wine.'

'What news have you of the situation in Ireland, then, Roberto?' said Lord Voldemort awaiting his spy's report.

'The Irish resistance has assassinated Orion Black,' said Roberto, 'while the news is somewhat kept away from the general populace, the Resistance is trumping its success from Creidhne to even the smallest village. Naturally, a response from Britannia is expected, but the world seems to have paused, taken a breath and awaited the conclusion of the Irish Affair. On the other front…'

_Meanwhile at Hogwarts_

The mood was entirely different at Hogwarts. The Great Hall had been cleared out, the younger students sent home for the summer holidays. Elves had worked tirelessly throughout the night and the drab old castle shone like the North Star amongst the others.

Each ceremony of graduation was a grand and solemn affair, with no expense spared for the proper entrance into society of the scions of the great houses. For some, however, the magic had gone out of it. While a few weeks ago the wave of euphoria and optimism had gripped the nation into a state of perpetual joy, the recent death of Orion Black had caused a veil of sadness and pessimism to fall upon both students and staff alike. While the Blacks, Malfoys and other assorted allied houses mourned the death of a relative, friend or mentor, even unaligned characters such as Dumbledore looked with dismay at the long drawn resistance that was bound to occur in Ireland.

However, not even such concerns could strip Dumbledore's sense of pride and fulfilment at bringing up yet another generation of witches and wizards. He remembered them as they entered Hogwarts, bright eyed and for all the haughtiness of some, as worried as the general crowd towards what was going to happen. Some had turned out rather well, and for all their flaws Dumbledore was sure that his influence had corrected some of their upbringing. Today Bellatrix Black, Rodolphus Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy, his three chief interests in altering their education, would step the first step in their new life. Dumbledore was positive, no _confident_ that they would make the right choices in the days to come.

Dumbledore's musings were interrupted by the clanking of ceremonial rods on the floor of the Great Hall. As the sound reverberated throughout the hall, the assembled students marked for graduation entered the hall in step, behind their respective Heads of House.

The Great Hall had been redecorated by the House Elves for the occasion. The long tables had been cleared away, replaced by long benches. Solely the presidium remained, although the teachers and headmaster now stood rather than sat over their audience. The front rows, which had been reserved for the graduation ceremony now filled to the brim with young witches and wizards. Gryffindor to the front left, followed by Hufflepuff, also on the left side. Slytherin took the opposite benches, in the front, with Ravenclaw behind it.

As the murmur of shuffling robes and unsteady feet quieted down, Dumbledore made a discreet hand gesture to the choir led by the young Professor Flitwick, recently appointed Head of Charms. As the magical instruments began playing a long march, the deputy headmaster began the ceremony that would mark the passage into adulthood for this generation.

'The gathering for graduation is a solemn affair for witches and wizards,' said Dumbledore, standing up for the podium, 'it is a time to remember not only the privileges of one's birth, but also consider the responsibility it entails. A time for joy and a time for thoughtful action. We now live in perilous times, with the future not as sure as it once was and the young generation as reckless as it ever was.' Dumbledore paused, allowing the eyes to roll across the audience. 'I remember the same words spoken at my graduation by a severe old wizard whose portrait undoubtedly adorns the walls of this great castle. I am not here to lecture you on the perils of life and how reckless this generation has become. Every former generation considers the new one to be reckless; it is merely a fact of life. That, however, is not an excuse for foolishness.' Dumbledore stared towards the right side of the hall, his eyes piercing through the assembled trio of Slytherins. 'Without further ado, I call forth the graduates of this year to stand and receive their diplomas: 'Avardin, Mark; Azeltov James…'

The list seemed to continue for quite some time, much to Abraxas' displeasure. His generation had been incredibly fecund, by wizarding standards at least, and he was made to endure the results. However, such trifle notions were dispelled from his mind by the call of one name. 'Black, Bellatrix,' said Dumbledore, two wizards striking the ground with ceremonial rods.

The young Miss Black stood up from her chair and curvaceously walked towards the podium to receive her diploma, much to the chagrin of Druella and the racy smile of Rodolphus. Dumbledore seemed, or pretended not to notice, as he leaned forward to speak to Bellatrix.

'Miss Black, a word of wisdom if I may. A terrible tragedy has befallen your family. They will need you more than ever, if the House of Black is to continue to play a significant role in Wizarding Britannia,' said Dumbledore, as he was handing the bejewelled certificate marking Bella's academic prowess.

'Surely you must be mistaken, headmaster,' replied Bella, snatching the certificate from Albus' hands. 'There are two male scions before me with that responsibility. The House of Black is as strong as it ever was.'

'I pray that you are correct, Miss Black,' said Dumbledore, motioning her to make room for the next graduate.

Lucius' ceremony went a degree more civilized, as could be expected of the son of the notoriously formal Abraxas. Rodolphus tried with some attempt to imitate Bella's carefree attitude, but merely managed to cause some embarrassment for his family.

With the headmaster calling the last name from the parchment, Abraxas thanking the gods of magic that the ceremony was finally drawing to an end, everyone burst in spontaneous applause, as the orchestra directed by the young Professor Flitwick began intoning the Hogwarts song. One man of the audience clapped more demurely, and yet seemed more interested of the proceedings than the jolly Mr Wighem, whose numerous offspring were being hugged profusely by his corpulent wife. Invitations were nominally handed out only to family members, to ensure manageable crowds, but the right word in the right ear had a tendency to overlook such trifle matters. Surely not all of Mr Wighem's seventeen brothers needed a pass, now did they?

Lord Voldemort sighed in pleasure at the names of Malfoy, Black and Lestrange. He seemed more proud than if they were his own offspring. Not keen to socialise with the crowds that always seem to break loose after such an event, Lord Voldemort carefully made his way out from the crowds heading towards the great gates of Hogwarts.

'Congratulations Lucius,' said Narcissa 'Although I can't help but feel a tiny bit annoyed. With you, Bella and Rodolphus graduating, you are leaving me with no decent company save for my tiresome cousin. Surely the gallant Malfoy would not allow me to wallow in boredom?' Narcissa said, claiming flirtatiously.

'Oh well Narcissa,' said Lucius, a twinkle in his eyes, 'I guess I must make an arrangement of sorts. Consider it done. Now what do you say we go celebrate my graduation in a more suitable manner?'

_Several months later…_

Lucius groaned as an impetuous owl banged its beak against the window of his small study in his London townhouse. 'Stop you wretched creature,' said Lucius as the owl began flying circles around his study. Deciding he had had enough, he drew his wand. The owl, seemingly intelligent enough to avoid antagonising the young Malfoy any further, alighted on his desk, extending its leg with a defiant look.

'Wretched creatures,' grumbled Malfoy, snatching the letter from the owl's leg, proceeding to open the envelope with an antique dagger. The owl took flight, not before deciding to grace the carved wooden desk with an attention for the attitude Malfoy had given her. 'Hmph the nerve,' thought the owl as she flew away.

Lucius seemed not to notice, however, as in front of him stood the documentation he had awaited for the past weeks. In order to placate Narcissa's anxieties, and allow himself some measure of enjoyment, he had rented a small cottage in Hogsmeade, so that he may live closer to Narcissa, while she finished her studies at Hogwarts. The ringing of the bell, however suspended his attention from the contract and onto more important matters.

'Ah, young Mr. Malfoy,' said Marcus Aventus, who had been the Nobilitas party secretary for the past twenty years, as well as a close friend of the Malfoy family, 'enjoying your summer, I see?' Marcus pointed towards the discarded cloak on the stairways and the faint smell of firewhiskey that seemed to emanate from it.

'Merely ready to start work in the autumn, Mr. Aventus,' said Lucius, 'while summer holds some endearment, I was always one for combining work and pleasure rather than restricting my attention to merely one.'

'Precisely, Mr. Malfoy, precisely,' bowed Marcus, as he strode through the hallway and into the drawing room, 'I am pleased to confirm that the party, after your father's recommendation has agreed to let you stand for one of the party safe seats. The seat for the Dominion of Wiltshire will stand empty at the next election, due to our candidate being caught in an inappropriate situation. He claims that it was merely shearing season, but we feel such allegations damage the party.'

'Excuse me Mr. Aventus,' intervened Lucius, 'but how is this likely to advance my career. Surely, a posting in the Ministry would be a more appropriate course of action. Rodolphus after all, is due to start work in the Department for Military Strategy shortly.'

'Many of us felt that way, Lucius,' said Marcus, 'but alas your father insisted that you start a political career with the least amount of favouritism shown as possible. He insists it will give your political track a great deal of legitimacy in the future. The party feels that since the _difficult_ position our last candidate was found in, we needed a big name to keep the seat in Wiltshire. I am pleased if you should accept our nomination?...'

'Of course Mr. Aventus,' said Lucius, a diplomatic smile plastered on his face, 'I am more than happy to serve our party in any way possible.'

'Excellent, Lucius, excellent,' said Marcus, grabbing his cloak and hat, 'please present yourself to the party headquarters some time tomorrow, so that we may best discuss your campaign.'

'Of course, Sir,' said Lucius, shaking the older wizard's hand, 'thank you.'

'Good day, Lucius' said Marcus, as he disapparated.

Election date in Wiltshire seemed a subdued enough affair. Although the Nobilitas candidate's propensity towards goats had caused quite a stir in this traditional community, the demographic of the Dominion made it impractical for any candidate but the Nobilitas to secure a seat, a fact not lost on the other political parties.

The old wizard presiding over the elections in the Magic Hall of Wiltshire seemed bored as always, presenting the candidates to the assembled crowd.

'Honourable witches and wizards,' droned the president of the elections, 'we are gathered here today to elect our representative for the House of Commons. Vote truthfully and with your mind, and do not let your hearts go astray. As main challenger, I give the podium to the Novus Veneficus candidate, Mark Diggle.'

A radical through and through, and seemingly unaware of the importance his own party place on him, nominating him for one of the safest Nobilitas seats, young Mark Diggle, freshly graduated stepped up the podium, ready to stir the working crowds of Wiltshire into revolutionary fervour.

'Witches and Wizards,' vociferated Mark at the top of his voice, until the presidium kindly requested him to use the charm. 'I stand here today not as some pampered pureblood merely wishing to abandon you on his way to a better prospect. No, I stand for Wiltshire and for every single member of its community, no matter their parentage. The war in Ireland has gone horribly wrong, indeed it should have never started,' he quipped, expecting approval from the audience who stared at him with indifference, or worse, hostility. Unabashed, he continued 'And yet we are straddled with a war which was not of our own making, but the results of which we should govern. As representative of Wiltshire, I vow to you to devote all my efforts towards reform, and the peaceful settlement of the Irish Affair!' A few muted applauses, mostly from the organising witches and wizards, and a few scattered shouts were the sole companions of the Novus Veneficus delegate, as he stepped down from the podiums, disenchanted.

By contrast, Lucius Malfoy strode to the podium dressed in his best robes, to thunderous applause from the crowd.

'My fellow witches and wizards,' said Lucius, his voice quiet and yet carrying over to the back rows 'you all know me. I have been a member of this community since I was a child, same as my father before me and his father before him. I know the problems that plague this Dominion inside out. I may have eyes on a high career, but surely that is a sign of ambition, a virtue and not a flaw to be derided.' Lucius was interrupted by the 'hear, hear' of the crowd revelling in their star candidate. 'If you elect me, I promise I will do my utmost best in representing this proud Dominion. Janus, I know you have sons in the Auror Corps. I pledge I will dedicate my support to our Aurors fighting in foreign lands, and not stab them in the back from home, as others would. Wiltshire for Wiltshire,' ended Malfoy, repeating his party's slogan for the campaign.

Aliquanta, as per their election agreement with the Nobilitas, had not provided a candidate in the Dominion of Wiltshire, deciding their efforts would be better spent elsewhere. The bored wizard that was presiding rose to wish both candidates the best of luck and then proceeded, with a swish of his wand to open the voting booths. At the end of the day the scores were tallied and Lucius' predicted victory by the newspapers was being loudly cheered and celebrated in pubs and ale houses across the Dominion.

Lucius himself was having a more subdued affair, indulging in Firewhiskey at his London residence, with a few friends in attendance.

'Congratulations to the honourable representative of Wiltshire,' shouted Rodolphus, agitating a bottle of Firewhiskey perilously, with Bella on his arm, 'although while my dear friend Lucius will be stuck in that Novus Veneficus infested place, I will travel the world devising new strategies for our Auror Corps. Life's not fair, eh Lucius?'

'Jealousy is not an endearing trait Rodolphus,' smirked Lucius, 'you see, while you will be trudging in some Siberian mud learning tundra warfare, I will be relaxing in a comfortable representative's office. Although I must confess I will miss this place.'

'You are giving up your London townhouse, Lucius,' asked Bella, steadying her fiancé, 'how come?'

'The party believes that the good witches and wizards of Wiltshire would not look too kindly on me living in London, Hogsmeade and Wiltshire. And since I was elected on a "local" platform, I need to preserve that image.'

'Spoken like a true politician, my friend,' said Rodolphus, patting him on the arm, 'Something I'm glad I don't have to deal with right now.'

'And plus, giving up one residence should allow him to better divide his time between the other two,' intervened Narcissa, leaning on Lucius' arm, to the others' amusement.

'Times are passing, Lucius,' said Bella, adopting a more sombre attitude than usual, 'we need to look towards the future.'

'Cheers to that,' said Lucius, downing his firewhiskey.

_In the House of Commons, several months later…_

'The house is called to order,' said Harry Brown, the Aliquanta Chairman of the House of Commons. While the moderates dominated the lower house, the recent elections had increased the number of Novus Veneficus to seventy-seven, heralding a slow, but sure shift in power in the realm.

The recent war had fared badly. The Irish resistance had struck again and again, until the British control in Ireland seemed to be restricted to Creidhne and a few of the larger cities. Even in the capital, some of the seedier neighbourhoods were hotbeds for rebellion and rarely entered by the now cautious Aurors. Such a shift in events could not help but influence public opinion back home, a fact reflected in the recent elections, as anti-war supporters gained much of the popular vote.

'The issues on the table at hand relate to the supplying of cloaks to the Auror Corps for winter warfare. A special envoy from the Ministry had detailed the risk and requisition for expenses, cited at 10 galleons and 4 sickles per cloak. The Ministry asks for the House to approve the supplying deal, and begs for the House to see past its fractured nature and agree,' said the Chairman, 'for the good of the corps. Due to the nature of the resolution, I would like to move towards direct voting, unless they are any objections…'

'Of course they'd be objections you fool,' muttered Lucius under his breath, as surely, a Novus Veneficus representative rose to take the podium.

'10 galleons and 4 sickles?' asked the representative, whose name Lucius couldn't remember, 'for winter cloaks? And we wonder why the treasury of the republic is emptied at such an alarming rate? I hardly think that this price is appropriate, especially considering the great expense that we are made to suffer with the occupation of Ireland.'

The house erupted in comment, forcing the chairman to intervene, 'As the representative for Lower Waldheim has been told many times before, external affairs lay under the jurisdiction of the House of Lords, and cannot by statute come under questioning in this house.'

'Of course, Mr. Chairman,' said the representative, 'I was merely trying to justify the expense. Erhm… As I was saying, this outrageous price surely cannot, in good conscience be approved by this house under such times of financial duress. Furthermore, I have great doubts that the exorbitant price will lead to quality, or whether it would lead to some family adding another wing to their Manor! I propose that this transaction be investigated by an inquiry led by this House to ensure no corruption takes place.'

The House yet again erupted, as those who felt fingers pointed out struck in retaliation. Throughout all the commotion, Lucius Malfoy sighed in desperation. His father had wished a good career with a solid foundation, but he could not see any perspective for advancement when it came to discussing cloak prices. By Olympus, Lucius had no idea how much a military cloak even cost, nor had he _ever_ considered the implication. As he allowed his mind to fantasise about the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend and the way he planned to spend it, his attention was brought back to the proceedings by one of the flying messages used by the Ministry landing on his desk.

'Surely, the representative from Lower Waldheim realizes that the cost of such a commission would be greater than the waste on expensive cloaks,' interrupted a representative from Aliquanta.

'I speak in a manner of principle,' replied the Novus Veneficus, with accounting fervour.

Lucius turned them off in his mind, as he investigated the letter he just received. Messages were passed in session if urgent, although one needed a good enough reason, or a good enough connection to get the letter past the secretarial office. The parchment was of good quality, and yet lacked the crest normally associated with one of the great houses. His mind started to analyse the possibilities. While it had not happened yet, there were rumours of cursed letters making their way into Ministerial offices, detonating unpleasant odours, or deadly nails, depending on the character of the respondent. Discreetly removing his wand he passed it over the letter, trying to detect foreign enchantments, and came away blank. Then, on a whim he merely opened the parchment, being struck with nothing but the scribbled words.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_It has come to my ears that you have been recently experiencing some frustration over your current position within our great state. I agree that a wizard of such talent would surely be better used on tasks that do not involve the cost of cloaks. I believe that you and I have much in common, Mr. Malfoy, chief among all our desire to serve our great Magical Republic and our personal desire for achievement. I can offer you both causes, Mr Malfoy._

_If you decide to contact me, speak to Antonin Dolohov, he will direct you to me._

_Yours truly,_

_LV_

Lucius understood the implications of the letter, as well as the acronym. Gearing the frustration of his current job against the excitement of a different one, he nearly got his quill out to scribble a reply, but was stopped again by his own warning to Rodolphus concerning Lord Voldemort.

There seemed to be little to gain and, potentially, much to lose. Lucius Malfoy was not yet ready to follow an outsider, despite whatever overlap they may have in ideals. With a small tinge of regret as he heard the debate moving on towards the cost of supplying cloak cloth from Brasilia rather than growing it in the north of Scotland, he tapped his wand against the letter, who proceeded to dissolve in a short, but bright flame.

Meanwhile, Lord Voldemort felt a twinge of annoyance and impatience, which he quickly stamped down. As the Duelling Master of the Knights had advised him so many years ago;

'_Impulsiveness and brashness are for brawlers, Tom. A dueller needs to use finesse and planning if he wishes to achieve victory. Which would you rather be?'_

He decided so many years ago that he would be a dueller, and if he abandoned most of the other teachings he received, that one at least still rang true.

* * *

Parts of this chapter were written before this story was abandoned (err... put on hold) and so it might feel a little disjointed. Have mercy on me, as I just got back in the saddle.


	16. The ninth circle of Hell

**Chapter XVI The ninth circle of Hell is reserved for Traitors**

**A/N**: This chapter was originally going to have an entirely different composition, specifically the second part, but looking at my plot line plan, I moved a certain scene forward and other scenes back in the timeline. I hope it all fits well.

We are now approaching the culminating point of the first book, as the chapter plan has only 24 chapters. However it initially only held 20, but as I started writing and added subplots, had to resolve them later on, it grew and grew and grew. However, the end is in sight; the plot is moving towards a grander scale and maybe some more light is she for different characters in the next chapters. Wait and see…

As always, reviewing is good for the soul.

* * *

A stormy winter day swept Diagon Alley of most of its shoppers, herding them towards the comfort of the numerous pubs and ale houses, much to the chagrin of merchants and shopkeepers. In contrast, Palace Alley swarmed with attention, crammed with reporters and government officials, all trying to get as close to the steps as the cordon of the First Regiment Auror Guards had created to maintain easy access into The Lords and Commons Palace. Alpheus Clark, senior reporter of the politics section of The Daily Prophet muscled his way across the crowd, swearing in his mind at the ICW decision which liberalised press access throughout the old world. It seemed as half of the newspapers of the seven countries had decided to send a reporter to Diagon Alley to steal his proper spot. Such an agglomeration of wizards meant that owls were flying in circles above, with some of the older ones perching on the portico of the Palace. While the charms present on the building ensured bird dropping simply glanced off, some of the members in the crowd were not so lucky. Establishing eye contact with one of the Aurors whom he paid particular attention to at Christmas, Alpheus was quickly escorted by the Auror through the crowd, near to the entrance of the Palace. There Alpheus took one glance around and began dictating.

'The constitutional crisis that we find ourselves now in is unprecedented,' said Alpheus Clark, 'not since the time of Grindewald have we seen the splintering of a political party in a time of martial law. 'Political Commentators to the Prophet have suggested that such an action would only hurt election standings for Nobilitas and Aliquanta, following the resignation of certain key members in the Dominions.' Alpheus' train of thoughts interrupted as his young aide's attention skipped from recording his notes to the young Lords entering the Palace behind him. He swore that these Hogwarts graduates became more useless every year.

'Rita, am I keeping you from something,' snapped Alpheus, causing the blonde to jump startled.

'Of course not, sir,' replied Rita, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face, 'I was merely on the lookout for someone important for you to interview.'

'Anyone important is highly unlikely to be under forty, Rita,' said Alpheus, 'kindly pay attention if you will.'

'Of course, sir,' replied Rita, as her hands returned to grasp the speed quill by which Alpheus insisted all his notes should be kept. In her mind the man's eccentricities were getting too much to bear. _Who the hell dictated notes anymore, since Amanuensis came out with self writing quills a decade ago? Alpheus was so last century._ Still, he seemed to ignore her feminine charms, so Rita needed another method to use for advancement with him. Actually, she should look more closely into the reason he was ignoring her feminine guiles. Filing away the thought for future consideration, she returned her attention to recording the words that Alpheus dictated in monotone.

'The recent escalation of the crisis in Ireland has led to the Novus Veneficus requesting the establishment of a special commission to investigate the performance of the current Minister of Magic. Current owl opinion polls say that confidence in the Minister is at an all time low, with much of the public calling for a vote of no confidence. On another note, the seven dead Aurors in the recent patrol are being repatriated today, a fact which will weigh heavily on the voters' and the lords' minds as they are voting on the commission. Contacted by the Daily Prophet, the leaders of the Nobilitas Party have refused to comment on the string of inefficient Ministers of Magic that have occupied the seat of government in recent years. Considering the majority that the Nobilitas holds in the House of Lords by virtue of birth, our readers would be forgiven if they considered the matter a foregone conclusion. However, the Daily Prophet wishes to remind its faithful readers of the rumours of fractures within the Nobilitas Party, culminating with the vote on the posting of the late Mr. Orion Black as Governor of Magical Ireland. The anti-war faction within the Nobilitas could potentially stand to destabilize today's vote, although our sources within the Nobilitas party assured us the party speaks with one voice, as always.'

'Have you finished writing?' asked Alpheus

'Just one second,' said Rita, her quill scribing furiously across the page, 'There'

Alpheus diagonally scanned the parchment, satisfied with the lack of errors, then extended his arm signalling one of the Daily Prophet owls to descend. Instantly a massive owl with grey plumage dived from the portico, landing on Alpheus' outstretched arm, causing the wizard to buckle slightly with the effort. Tying the parchment to the owl's leg, Alpheus catapulted the heavy owl which beat its powerful wings quickly, heading for the Daily Prophet offices on Diagon Alley. With luck, and a lack of sabotage from jealous rivals, the article would make it into a special lunchtime edition of the Prophet.

_Meanwhile in the House of Lords…_

Albus Dumbledore sat gravely in the high-back throne-like chair reserved for the Chairman of the House, the murmur of the crowd gradually quieting down, as everyone anxiously awaited the words of the Chairman which would detail the business of the day. Dumbledore took advantage of the silence to scan the crowd, asserting his importance as Chairman in an attempt to humble some of the more arrogant Lords.

The action seemed to infuriate some and humour others, although the triumvirs of the Nobilitas Party remained unimpressed, Abraxas Malfoy even turning to whisper something to his friend Cygnus.

'Has the date for the wedding been set yet? I am leaving for an International Confederacy of Wizards conference that I need to name a replacement for if I can't attend.'

'Due to Orion's death, as a sign of respect, it's been postponed for a year, much to Bella's displeasure,' replied Cygnus, 'so you may go without worry.'

'Lords of the realm,' spoke Dumbledore, his ocular tour of the chamber complete, 'I have in front of me a resolution proposed by Lord Potter on behalf of the Novus Veneficus, that is signed by a large proportion of the Aliquanta as well. It proposes the creation of a special commission, composed of representatives from the three political parties for the investigation of the "poor" performance of the current Minister of Magic. Unless there are any objections, I will proceed to read the contents of the proposal.' Surprisingly opposition to the resolution seemed to await a better channel, as the House remained silent.

_The Occupation of Ireland has been mishandled by the current administration. Our Aurors are currently taking large casualties in patrols that serve little point beyo. As soon as the Aurors leave the area, malcontent returns. We do not have the resources to enforce an Auror State in Magical Ireland, nor do we (Novus Veneficus) consider this to be an appropriate, moral course of action._

_The Anti-War Coalition in this House addresses that now more than ever we need a strong leader, someone who could reassert the pride in our great state which is much denied the ability and one with the diplomatic skill needed to handle such a delicate problem._

_We of the Novus Veneficus can no longer sit by and abide the succession of administrations with little independent action or thought. The House of Lords is not here to govern the realm. The division of power is clear Judicial, Legislative, and Executive – Wizengamot, Houses of Lords and Commons, Ministry of Magic. The increasing blurring of the last two in the categories is the result of the lack of assertiveness of the position of Minister of Magic._

_Our state used to be at the forefront of civilization in Europe and yet with each passing year we seem to sink furthermore into barbarism and tyranny. Part of the problem identified lies in the persona of the Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold. Therefore, in the interests of justice in this realm and unhindered by anyone, we of independent will and action propose the following to the House of Lords:_

_The creation of a Special Commission of two representatives of each group, elected by inner-party ballot or whichever decision is deemed appropriate;_

_The Special Commission to investigate the Minister's performance and produce a Special Report for this House to aid in the decision of future matters;_

_Signed, on behalf of the Novus Veneficus, certain Aliquanta Members as well as delegates which adhere as independents in the presence of the Chairman of the House.'_

The House had remained quiet throughout much of the resolution, which had been fairly civil in its assessments. After all, public opinion had shifted a great deal against Millicent Bagnold, causing even leading members of the Aliquanta to distance themselves away from the ineffective Ministry of Magic. One announcement however, read by Dumbledore in the same grandfatherly voice he used to speak to the students at Hogwarts caused a murmur to break through the chamber.

'Independents,' puffed Lord Lestrange, 'The old man has clearly lost his mind. There haven't been any independents in the House of Lords since the time Novus Veneficus broke from the Aliquanta in the 1920s'

'I fear the implications of this announcement,' said Abraxas, a slight sheen of perspiration matting his forehead, although his expression remained unchanged. 'Cygnus, you were at the party conference before this session. Any unusual aspects?'

'A few absences,' replied Cygnus, willing himself to not turn around and stare his fellow party members into obedience, 'mostly from the younger lordships, but that is nothing out of the ordinary, considering it was Monday morning.'

'What about your spy, Roberto,' asked Abraxas, 'has he informed you of any unusual developments?'

'Roberto has been rather scarce of late;' replied Cygnus, 'but no news worth mentioning has reached my ears.'

'It must mean the Aliquanta,' laughed Lord Lestrange, 'Lord MacMillan has maybe lost the reins over his sheep;'

'Let us pray it is so,' replied Abraxas, as the murmurs were dying down and the chamber had once again come to order. To allay some of the three's fears, Lord MacMillan seemed far more worried than any of them, whispering to his closest advisers well after the rest of the chamber had quieted down, earning a few gavel hits and a reproving look from Dumbledore.

'Those wishing to speak in favour of the resolution may approach the podium,' said Dumbledore, opening the floor for discussion. Richard Potter approached the podium, smilingly confidently.

'My Lords, the resolution presented in front of you is mercifully short, as I realise it is a Monday,' said Lord Potter, eliciting some laughs from the audience, 'but it is nonetheless extremely important. The Minister of Magic has committed some grave errors of judgement, errors which put the stability and safety of our Republic to the test, as well as cause much misery and malcontent in Ireland. As you are aware, my colleagues and I have opposed this action from the very beginning, but we wish to do the best we can under the circumstances. That no longer involves sitting by and accepting the leadership of Minister Bagnold. We believe that the actions the Ministry has taken as of late no longer represent the welfare of the people we represent. As such we wish to institute a commission, with two members from each group in the House to analyse the Minister's performance and decide on whether the Lords should pursue a vote of no confidence against the Minister,' Lord Potter paused a second to dredge his voice before continuing with renewed vigour, 'I know that some elements of this House support Millicent Bagnold and that is undoubtedly their right. However, I call upon you to demonstrate a chivalrous behaviour and support the motion.'

'Appealing to the Aliquanta is he?' asked Lord Lestrange, deriding the opposition with a sweep of his hand. 'Even Lord MacMillan is unlikely to pull the rug from underneath his candidate.'

'Matters are moving too quickly, my friends,' replied Abraxas. 'The Minister is indeed appalling. We must not be seen to stubbornly support a candidate, one which is even not of our own party. I say we welcome this commission and simply make sure that its' report distances us from the failures of the previous administration. Surely we can influence at least that outcome successfully.'

'Agreed,' replied Cygnus, both of them turning towards Lestrange, who took only a little bit more convincing. Seeing that the triumvirs were in approval, Abraxas tapped the parchment sitting in front of his chair twice in his wand, then withdrew an ornate quill made from a Phoenix feather and proceeded to write.

_The Official Party Line supports the Institution of this Special Commission. The vote is classed as importance A, with __**all **__party members expected to adhere to the official party line._

Simultaneously, Abraxas' elegant scroll appeared on every single piece of parchment of the Nobilitas, even the rear rows of the younger lordships. While some had feared a rupture of the Nobilitas party following the thirty-one members not supporting Orion Black's nomination, the triumvirs had shown clemency, claiming that the vote had been classed as importance B, with every member allowed to vote according to his heart and mind, thus not warranting an exclusion from the party. Thus, nominally at least the Nobilitas maintained its one hundred and thirty strong majority in the House.

'The floor is now opened to any who wish to speak against this motion,' said Dumbledore after Lord Potter had resumed his seat. A shaken Lord MacMillan rose, even though his aides had tried to contain him.

'The chair recognises Lord MacMillan of the Aliquanta,' replied Dumbledore, graciously extending his arm to the leader of the moderates in the house.

'The resolution proposed does nothing but waste the time of this government,' said Lord MacMillan furiously, 'and this is not a time to waste on such trifles. If Lord Potter is considering _our_ Minister's performance to be inadequate he should call for a vote of no confidence, not go through a diplomatic back door. My part opposes the creation of this Special Commission and will not send any representatives to it, even if the resolution passes.'

'Thank you Lord MacMillan,' said Dumbledore, 'Do you wish to propose any amendments to the resolution that would make it more suitable to your party's liking?'

'No, Chairman,' replied Lord MacMillan, 'Our party considers the entire resolution to be inappropriate and as such rejects it in its entirety.'

'Very well,' said Dumbledore, taking a few notes on his parchments, 'if we may proceed to voting. I invite the Nobilitas party to step forward.'

Lord Malfoy stepped out from the first row, the rest of the Nobilitas filling in behind him. The majority seemed to expect a refusal of the commission by the Nobilitas and yet Abraxas surprised them all by touching his wand ever so slightly to the white globe. As the rest of the Nobilitas touched down, the magical globes began tallying up the votes. By the time the Chairman of the House called forth the Novus Veneficus to vote, the one hundred and thirty Nobilitas had adhered to the inexplicable party lines and voted in favour. The political commentators bobbed their heads in satisfaction, numerous analyses throughout the realm citing the Nobilitas party's strengths as consistent voting.

Predictably, the Novus Veneficus supported their party's line, due to their smaller numbers and fiercer dedication. The Aliquanta however caused the most grief to Lord MacMillan. As the Aliquanta stepped up to the ball and voted differently according to their own convictions, only the more conservative of them, headed by Lord MacMillan voting against, while the radically inclined, headed by Lord Longbottom supported the motion. Some Aliquanta, however, remained seated, causing quite a stir.

'I wish to remind the members of the Aliquanta that are still seated, that even if they abstain, they must come forth and express that option,' said Dumbledore, motioning for them to come forward.

'We will of course like to represent our opinion, Mr. Chairman,' spoke one of the twenty-five Lords that usually swung which way popular opinion cajoled them, but we are not Aliquanta. Following the misdemeanour of this party and Minister we have decided to form an independent group in the House.' Lord MacMillan's face drained of blood as shock, fury and sadness seemed to try to dominate his facial expression all at once.

'That is of course your prerogative,' said Dumbledore uneasily, 'please step forward and express your choice. After the last independent Lord voted in favour of the commission, the golden letters showed the final result.

'The resolution to institute a Special Commission for the Investigation of the Minister of Magic's performance has passed, one hundred and seventy to thirty votes,' said Dumbledore, 'let this be inscribed in the Book of Motions. This Special Commission will operate for one month, producing a report to be circulated and read out loud to this house and will dissolve itself after this task is completed. The nominations of two Lords from each party, as well as two Lords from the independent group are to be submitted by owl to the Office of the Chairman. This session is over.' Dumbledore slashed his wand across the voting podium, the voting globes retreating to their secured location underneath the presidium, as the great doors to the hall were opened by guards from the other side.

The reporters rushed in for an interview, but got scantily few quotes as the Lords marched out of the House concerned with their own thoughts and problems.

Meanwhile at Gamp Castle…

Igor Karkaroff bowed his head as he passed some of the smaller doors of the ancient parts of Gamp Castle. The doorways here were ancient and musty from the humid weather, and he would not want to sully his ermine fur hat. The guide for the quintessentially dressed wizard had proclaimed that ermine hats were in fashion this season and that the only possible source suitable for them was Nevsky's Fur House in Magical Sankt Petersburg. The current hostility between Magical Britannia and Ireland made importing luxury goods somewhat difficult due to stringent border controls, but Igor Karkaroff had applied his master's teachings well enough. Igor smiled as he remembered the scene, proud in his abilities.

'Mr. Karkaruf,' said the customs' wizard.

'Karkaroff,' interrupted Igor, annoyed, 'Igor Karkaroff.'

'Of course, sir' said the customs' wizard unperturbed, 'however, I am afraid that you simply cannot take possession of this package at this time. According to House of Commons Act 45, considering the recent hostility of Magical Britannia, all packages outside the Seven Tribes union are subject to three weeks quarantine. I am sorry Mr. Karkaruf, but I don't make the rules, I merely enforce them.'

'Surely you can make an exception,' replied Igor testily, annoyed at his name being mispronounced again, 'you see ermine furs are quite the rage this season, and I have an incoming trip to a colder location that simply requires them as an accessory. I know the times are hard with the Ministry slashing expenses from other departments, if I were to pay an urgency fee of sorts?'

'And break my oath to the Customs' Department, Mr. Karkaruf?' replied the wizard hotly, 'I am afraid that is not how we do things around here.'

'_Imperio!'_ said Igor, having had enough, 'I command you to hand me over that package and to forego all customs' duty on it.'

'Of course, Mr. Karkaruf,' replied the customs' wizard, in a trance.

'Karkaroff!' shouted Igor.

'Karkaruf, of course' replied the customs agent.

Igor looked ready to apply even more of his master's teachings, but decided he had obtained what he wished and disapparated, package in hand back to Gamp Castle.

Igor's reverie of memories was interrupted by the sight of the solid oak door that barred the way to his master's study. As he knocked, and received permission to enter, he was surprised to see that his master was entertaining Antonin Dolohov, who sat drinking wine with Lord Voldemort.

'My Lord,' bowed Igor, his long grey fur robes trailing the dust on the floor, 'all the necessary travel arrangements are made. I have also packed and am ready to go whenever you find suitable.'

The stern atmosphere was broken by Lord Voldemort laughing politely.

'Igor, Igor,' said Lord Voldemort, 'you misunderstood me. When I said you should arrange travel arrangements for two persons you automatically included yourself. It was my error,' said Voldemort with fake modesty, 'I should have specified that Dolohov here is joining me. Surely you understand…'

Igor's face fell, as Antonin was smiling triumphantly from behind the Dark Lord. His mind reeled against the injustice of it. He had been there with the Dark Lord since the beginning; he should be the most favoured. Dolohov would pay for this, surely it was his fault.

'Of course, my lord,' replied Igor, not trusting his voice to say more, as he exited the chamber, leaving the travel arrangements on parchment on a side table.

'Apologies for the interruption Antonin,' said Lord Voldemort, putting his wine glass down on the table, replacing it with the travel parchments. 'Igor has been of invaluable help but he can get ahead of himself sometimes.'

'Of course, my lord,' said Antonin.

'Our movement, like any movement, Antonin,' drawled Lord Voldemort 'relies on one limit hampering our actions. Tell me Antonin, do you know what that element is?'

'Numbers, my lord?' inquired Antonin.

'Numbers are useful, Antonin,' said Lord Voldemort, 'but they are not everything; and what I speak for can bring far more than numbers and that included. Galleons, Antonin, galleons are what any movement of any sort needs; Galleons provide power; power provides influence; influence attracts numbers, Antonin. So you see, it all comes down to galleons.'

'How do you propose we should obtain them, my lord?' asked Antonin, 'do you wish us to _appropriate_ a few funds?'

'No, Antonin,' said Lord Voldemort, 'while that may be enough for the day to day business what I speak of requires far more than some upstarts' fortune. Mr. Gant has served us well enough until now, but I am afraid that his assets are somewhat diminishing. A small price to pay, I am sure he'd agree.'

'Come Antonin, we must depart if we are to not be late for our hosts,' said Lord Voldemort, draping a black cloak over his shoulder. Antonin followed Lord Voldemort to the outside of Castle Gamp, then took a hold of the portkey that had been especially tailored to pass through the magical wards that had been lifted around Britannia for the duration of the hostilities.

Antonin spun round the atmosphere at insane speeds, feeling a slight queasiness as they passed through the wards, saw Lutetia for a second and was then deposited in a little shaded area on the banks of Lac Leman.

'Geneva, my lord,' said Antonin, shaking his head to clear the dizziness of portkey travel, 'to what purpose?'

'The greatest purpose of them all, Antonin, the greatest purpose of them all,' said Lord Voldemort gathering his cloak and walking towards the Pont du Mont-Blanc on the Quai Wilson. Antonin was puzzled, but had learned through careful observation that sometimes one merely had to accept the oddities of his lord; at least if he wished to advance in the vigilante organisation that had so many different names in the papers.

The regular genevois crowd noticed two men wearing long black robes that trailed on the pavement behind them, but in a city so used to international crowds and diplomatic strangeness, no one gave them a second glance. When they reached the base of the Pont du Mont-Blanc Voldemort withdrew his wand and, looking around whispered a few choice words in Latin. Suddenly the pavement spread apart and became a gilded staircase descending into the quay. Antonin followed Lord Voldemort and the entrance sealed magically behind them.

Inside, the city was more wondrous than Antonin had ever seen. The underground warren of Geneva, housing one of the greatest cities of the Magical Kingdom of Helvetia, was a city trapped in between water and cave.

The buildings were faced with white stone and adorned with statues of magical creatures and wizards. The city was arranged against a vast underground cave, with the other side being the Leman Lake. Ancient goblin wards kept the water, fish and divers away from the city, but allowed the image to shift through. Sunlight filtered through the shield, surrounding the stone clad buildings in a golden glow, softening their appearance. Antonin was wide eyed, but he pretended not to be, as he followed Lord Voldemort.

The Dark Lord was making his way to a great building that stood closest to the underground cave's walls. Unlike the others, it was not faced with white stones, but with the dark grey stone of the underground cave itself. Its sole adornments were two golden dragon statues sitting face to face in front of the vast entrance.

Two goblins in full armour decorated with scenes from goblin mythology stood at the entrance, halberds crossed to bar passage to any intruders.

'I am Lord Voldemort,' said the Dark Lord imperiously, 'here to see Barbegazi.' The two goblins analysed him and his follower, and then inexplicably pulled back the halberds, all without saying a word. Lord Voldemort entered into the great hall of the Goblin Bank of Helvetia, a hall adorned with statues of the tribes' meeting of goblins in the Bernardus Pass.

Two gilded doors with a dragon motif guarded the entrance to the office of Barbegazi, the chief goblin of the bank. Lord Voldemort strode in confidently, followed by a less confident Antonin. Barbegazi motioned for Lord Voldemort to sit down, and then waited for introductions.

'I am Lord Voldemort, formerly of the Knights of Walpurgis, here to discuss the possibility of financing for my operation in Britannia. We met during my tenure as a Knight of Walpurgis.'

'I am afraid I do not recall,' replied Barbegazi, 'although you do come quite recommended,' looking through the thick parchment of notes that appeared when he snapped his fingers. 'Knight of Walpurgis, freelancer and now running an organisation set to restore the grandeur of Magical Britannia… Now that is a very deceiving word, Mr…'

'Lord Voldemort,' the Dark Lord reminded him, his posture tester.

'Ah yes, of course, my apologies,' replied Barbegazi, 'a mere oversight of our records, bound to be corrected soon enough. You know of how paperwork is. Now I confess to not remembering you, but we have heard of your exploits even in faraway Geneva. Interesting, although your objectives are not clear… grandeur, now that is an interesting objective, although it means so many different things to different people. That is not uncommon in our clients, however. I also understand you need us to extend you an open line of credit. Bank policy generally only allows those for the wealthiest of clients. I am sure you would benefit from our help, but I am not quite sure how the bank would benefit from it. You must understand, organisations such as yours do not have the best track record in consequent financial payback, something the bank needs.'

'I understand, Barbegazi,' said Lord Voldemort, 'however I believe I have a more tempting proposition. You see, a simple repayment would indeed earn a considerable interest on the credit you would extend my organisation, but the repayment I have in mind would potentially earn you a far larger reward.'

'A larger reward, Lord Voldemort,' said Barbegazi, rubbing his hands with glee, 'I daresay you are well versed in the goblin tongue.'

'The current financial administration of Britannia is divided between the Ministry and the Goblins of Gringotts, is that correct?' asked Lord Voldemort.

'Of course, Lord Voldemort,' said Barbegazi, we are aware of the _unique_ system your country chose for its banking system.'

'Such _uniqueness_ is what I seek to remedy,' said Lord Voldemort, 'Under the agreement discussed beforehand, I would be willing to hand complete control of the banking system to you, rather than our former associates at Gringotts. I am afraid they have proven rather unsatisfactory, what with the rebellions and what not. I am sure the Bank of Helvetia would make for far more suitable financial partners.'

'Bankers,' my lord, interrupted Barbegazi, 'not partners. The arrangement in Helvetia gives us full control over the financial system of the kingdom.'

'Of course, Barbegazi,' I spoke out of turn. Considering the fiscal administration of Helvetia, I daresay that it would be beneficial for all actors involved.'

'Lord Voldemort, what you propose carries a great deal of risk,' said Barbegazi, 'but the Bank of Helvetia did not make its fortune on safe investments.' A click of his fingers caused one of the elaborate wooden panels to open revealing a passageway to a secretary's room. Two goblins were writing a contract on thick parchment paper, while a third was enchanting the necessary spells used in such a situation. Barbegazi extended his hand, one secretary bringing the parchment for signing.

'All we have discussed, Lord Voldemort,' said Barbegazi, 'about to be made into a contract. Barbegazi signed with a flourish, handing the same barbarically carved quill to Voldemort, who signed it without much other thought.

'The small matter of funds transfer remains, Lord Voldemort, but if you or one of our representatives approach Geneva, you will be able to obtain whatever funds necessary,' said Barbegazi, filling the contract away under "loans, long-term". 'We will require the names of those authorized within a month. Naturally, you may withdraw any names from that list as matters become more complicated.'

'Naturally,' replied Lord Voldemort, 'I wish for Antonin here to be my first approval. If you please Antonin…'

'Thank you for the honour, my lord,' said Antonin, making a small bow as he signed the list appearing in thin air.'

Lord Voldemort and Antonin left Geneva by the same portkey through which they arrived, the inhabitants of Geneva filing the disturbance away under "rich foreigners" category. Back at Gaunt Castle the tense atmosphere that seemed to have developed dispelled and Dolohov felt more at liberty to comment.

'My Lord,' said Antonin, 'I fear the Goblins may have larger plans than we understand. I have the strange impression that we may have signed on to more than we know.'

'Galleons, Antonin,' said Lord Voldemort, hesitating for a moment, 'and other… things. All will be revealed in good time, Antonin. For now, let us remain assured in the advantage we have gained. Contact Roberto. It is long time that we handled the Irish situation more carefully.'

-To be continued-


End file.
